


What Comes After

by Snarcastic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ANGST IS COMING, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Harry, Dom/sub, Dominant Snape, First Time, Heavy Angst, Light to Start, M/M, Minor Ron Weasley Bashing, Multi, My First Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plotty, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Slow To Update, Submissive Harry, This Fic is Writing Itself, Top Severus Snape, Weird Plot Shit, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 178,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarcastic/pseuds/Snarcastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a change of character after Ron disappears while they're on the run and looking for Horcruxes. He begins to see the world in technicolor and not just black and white. As he becomes more mature certain things occur to him that should have been obvious all along and he sets out to right the wrongs done to quite possibly the bravest man he's ever known. But as in all things relating to Harry Potter, nothing goes according to plan. This is a story about love, self loathing and the gray zones that make up the world as well as the people in it. When it comes to taking action you have to first ask yourself, what comes after?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bury the Hatchet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic and/or slash and I'm stoked! I'd love a beta and all the feedback you can give me! The explicit stuff will pick up in the third chapter, so watch out! Also it wouldn't be right not to say it, this was largely inspired by Pains and Contradictions by atypicalsnowman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if this is necessary but just to be safe.....
> 
>  
> 
> I, in no way, am responsible for Harry Potter, any Harry Potter references, selections, scenes or characters belonging to the Harry Potter universe found within this story, characters, places, objects and other multiple, various references, selections of those books and movies that I have manipulated and toyed with herein to suit my fancies belong expressly to and are the creation of J.K. Rowling and were given birth to by her genius. And we all love her for it. ❤

I lay silently on my cot, listening to the whispers and soft sighs periodically coming from Ron and Hermione’s magically expanded but otherwise identical cot opposite my turned back. This has become a more frequent occurrence which must mean Hermione has fully forgiven Ron his disappearing act. I long to cast a silencing charm but am loathe to disturb this small happiness they're afforded. Squashing my sudden and shameful jealousy, I practice something that I find increases with the frequency of their nighttime sessions, willing all thought to cease completely. Let them have their warmth, find some semblance of home in this strange, dark world they've been cast into. A world where Voldemort is, for our lack of direction and death of my mentor, invincible for the foreseeable future. A world that matches the unbearably cold, driving wind and steady rain beyond the tent. Uninviting, dreary, and dark. A match for my mood of late. Try as I might I cannot seem to pull myself out of the downward spiral that is my self-pity and nonstop guilt fest at having allowed my friends to subject themselves to our current miserable existence. It is of course, sheer selfishness that brought them here with me. I can't imagine doing this on my own. As bleak as my world seems with them, I'm sure I would be dead already without them.

It becomes apparent that trying not to think is not working and I won't be sleeping tonight.  
Unfortunately, as this realization makes itself known, Ron's baritone, rumbling cadence is heard once again attempting to cajole Hermione into less innocent activities best left for a more private setting. To my great horror, her tone indicates assent.

Hermiones pitch, however, betrays her slight panic. "It's only that... well I'm not overly enthusiastic to have an audience Ronald."

Unrequited or no, Rons enthusiasm doesn’t falter. "Harry sleeps like the dead Hermione, he'll never know!"

"Until you give into your nature and go bragging you mean," Hermione snickers.

Ron feigns insult and gasps dramatically. Hermione giggles again before a sharp intake of breath cuts her off.

She exhales shakily and says, "I lied."

I hear the loud smack of lips popping off of Merlin knows what and grimace disgustedly. If this continues in the direction it's headed I'll have to do something, no way am I bearing witness to this.

"Lied?" Ron sounds anxious.

"Krum and I... we didn't... I mean- I've never..." Hermione stammers uncharacteristically and then trails off.

There's a silence so thick I think I might actually suffocate, if not for the rain and wind to distract me.

"Bloody hell Hermione!" The cot squeaks as he unceremoniously flops beside her.

"I'm sorry!" She squeaks timidly, "I didn't mean to ruin anything!"

"Awh, 'Mione, you didn't ruin anything, silly. I just... well I can't let our first time be like this."

"Oh... Ron." She sighs contentedly and I hear fabric brushing as she settles beside him. There's a stretch of silence punctuated with the small wet noises of kissing.

"I love you, Hermione."

"I love you, Ronald."

My jealousy reaches a fever pitch. I think if I were of a lesser will I might actually vomit. They fall asleep rather quickly after some further declarations and fervent kisses. Once their breathing is deep and steady I allow myself to brood properly. I find it rather easy, disturbingly so, not to think about Ginny, until I'm trapped in the tent with those two at night. Listening to them and being exposed to their late night fumbling’s has been an enlightening source of humiliation. The mental images of my best friends together is embarrassing both because I don't want to picture either of them that way and also because I cannot fathom doing these things with Ginny. At Hogwarts, I never really considered what was beyond the odd bit of snogging. Of course there was the rare passionate dream and the occasional glance up a skirt with Seamus, but I hadn't considered actually taking the next step. During the first awkward night of groping between Ron and Hermione, my brain drifted to Ginny and I felt nothing but absolute, all consuming, soul crushing terror. Terror, and revulsion. I guess I was actually terrified because of the revulsion. I wasn't just repulsed, I was totally uninterested. Kissing Ginny excited me in the same way that sneaking out of the common room did. There was the rush of knowing it was somewhat wrong, that Ron wouldn't accept it and that she was younger than me. She is attractive, but that's the extent of my interest. Our relationship is more a general curiosity than anything. It was the same with Cho. Knowing this, I can't let it go on. Ginny is sitting out there somewhere waiting and worrying over me, and I lay at night in a tent thinking of how repulsive I find the prospect of touching her. Envying the ease with which her older brother and my best friend click together.

That's what it is, thus far I haven't met a single girl who had the right edges, our pieces don't fit, the separate pictures don't form a grand scale image. How could they? Who can relate to what I've been through, there's nothing beyond the surface, it's an experiment for me and a thrill for them. Snogging The Boy Who Lived. Ginny just held enough taboo to hold my interest, but not enough to override my morals. I couldn't ever be with someone out of the thrill of it. Especially considering it would be my first time, probably Ginny's as well. Although, feeling you could die at any moment does put a kind of pressure on a person to experience everything available no matter the circumstance.

And therein lies the terror.

The prospect isn't any more appealing without Ginny. It can't be just any girl, and the list of girls I might trust is extremely limited. Trust isn't the issue though, it's repugnant no matter what face is attached to the unfamiliar female bits. Which leads to a disturbing idea that I refuse to acknowledge.

It simply can't be.

It makes no difference either way, I remind myself, it changes nothing of the current situation. I'm out here with my friends, waiting for either some change to propel us forward or to be captured and killed. If only Dumbledore had left us any sort of instructions or told us anything of use concerning the horcruxes. Or even told someone else. The only person I think Dumbledore might have confided in was....

Him.

As usual, when my brain goes there, I feel a sick quiver in my stomach and experience a mild ringing in my ears. When I remember that night on the astronomy tower it's all I can do not to hyperventilate. The idea of such a betrayal, the quiet plea in Dumbledore’s voice and expression. The green flash that I'm beginning to think of as the signal of every pivotal moment of my existence. Snape. A cold shiver runs down my spine. Dumbledore’s ultimate folly. I go over and over it in my head, all the times I begged him to listen to me, to see reason, to recognize him for the slimy, cockroach of a man he is. Rage settles squarely in my chest. It makes a home there and waits for the day I see him again. It has finally taken up enough space to push out the spirit crushing ache Dumbledore’s death instilled. But something else begs for attention, is quite adamant that I consider it nightly and at length. The conversation I overheard that terrible and fateful evening.

"Have you ever considered that you ask too much, that you take too much for granted? Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this anymore?!"

"Whether it has or hasn't is irrelevant. I will not negotiate with you Severus, you agreed. Nothing more to discuss."

Snape crosses to the stair where I panic briefly and consider hiding. When he sees me, an irritated scowl graces his features and when he moves to pass he pauses. At the time I thought he simply wanted to take a moment to express his anguish at my continued existence. But then there was that look in his eye, somewhat quizzical and somewhat disappointed. In that moment I felt in the air around the man something aside from his typical disdain. It felt like the air at funeral.

I snort at that. The man killed my mentor later that very evening of course retrospect has me associating him with death and sorrow. Still, something niggles at my brain. As if I've missed an obvious solution just under the surface of it all. The unbreakable vow, the conversation with Dumbledore and his unfailing trust in the man. Of course Dumbledore had his secrets, the book Rita Skeeter wrote proved that. While a lot of it was probably rubbish and definitely taken out of context, some of it had proven to be true. I can't help but wonder what Dumbledore hadn't told me about Snape. Still, he killed the man. Nothing could justify that.

Regardless I feel like I must be missing something. Dumbledore would have seen a threat like that coming, he must have. Everything else aside I'd like to know what that conversation on the astronomy tower was about. I've always just assumed he wanted to stop spying, but perhaps it was something else. And if he was still spying, maybe it had something to do with Draco. Maybe we could ask Remus or Kingsley. Maybe it doesn't matter. But not knowing and never asking will drive me crazy and it beats sitting around waiting. Admittedly, it will also make a convenient cover for my ulterior motive for dropping by the Weasley's. I'd rather not confront Ron and then Ginny, his anger at having been forced to accept the situation only to have me hurt her would probably be enough to make me chicken out.

I roll over and resolve to talk to Ron and Hermione about it in the morning. I imagine Ron will be happy to see his family and be indoors. Hermione undoubtedly has questions for members of the Order as well. I suppose it was going to come to this one way or another but my relief at being with other members of the Order, handing my worries over to an adult for a while, makes me somewhat ashamed. Everyone has such high expectations for me, and that's aside from the prophecy. Going to Remus and the Weasley's for help feels like admitting to failure. Perhaps I'm just too much in my own head. I don't know what anyone could possibly expect, I learned of the horcruxes existence and with basically no other information was thrust out into the world to find them. I know everyone had hoped that we'd be further along, and I feel the weight of every death like a ton of bricks on my conscience, but I have no clue where to begin looking. They'll understand. No one will think any less of me for only having found and destroyed one horcrux. Especially given that we finally have a way to destroy the horcruxes we need to find. On that note, feeling slightly more optimistic, I begin to start the impossible task of clearing my mind once more. I listen to the sounds of Hermione and Ron breathing and realize it's stopped raining.

When I wake the tent is a grayish purple color so I'm pleased to learn I'm rising with the sun. A nasal snore tells me Ron is still in bed and the tinkling sound of tin on rock let's me know Hermione is already working on tea.

I swing my legs over the edge of my cot and groggily run my hands through hair that's more impossible than usual. We all sleep fully dressed these days, but I can't manage to sleep with my trainers on. As I shove my feet into them, making as small an effort as possible, I take in Ron's oblivious state. I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly. One more thing to envy him for.

When I step out of the tent a waft of smoke assaults me. We use as little magic as possible out of sheer paranoia, Hermione has even stopped heating the tea magically. The wards she sets are all the magic we really need anyway. I nod to her in greeting and she gives me a small smile, concern shining oddly in her eyes. Several days ago we had a discussion about my sleeping habits. The shard of mirror from Sirius I continue to keep on my person has shown much the same thing she had claimed, I look ill. Dark bags beneath my eyes, which are red rimmed, pale skin, chapped lips and gaunt features. I told her I couldn’t sleep, and when I can sleep I have nightmares. Cedric in the graveyard. Sirius' fall through the veil. Dumbledore on the astronomy tower. Sometimes He is there. The dreams are never disturbing, though there was enough violence and fear between us to justify it. There isn’t even anything to the dreams, just His voice echoing through my head, telling me to control my mind. I even imagine I can feel His hands on me, shaking me for good measure, just as it was in 5th year. The fear, the restlessness, the unease, that follows those dreams. That's what bothers me about them. I know now that Voldemort could manipulate and assault me through my dreams, but surely He can't? And if he could, why would he be sending me that? If it's to inspire discomfort, surely he knows already that I feel it regardless.

A familiar sensation ripples through my stomach at that look. Anxiety, anger, and some nameless thing that comes along with regret and depression. It doesn’t do much for ones appetite, thus the gaunt features.

“Hello Harry, how did you sleep?”

She asks every morning in spite of the fact that my answer is always the same and always a lie that never fools anyone.

“Hullo. Fine Hermione, how are you?”

Hermione wraps a threadbare blanket further around herself and bites her bottom lip while she considers my response. Her rosy cheeks and layers of clothing are a testament to the chill the worn blanket probably does nothing to combat. She meets my eyes once more and I can see a question in hers.

“Harry… if you won’t talk about it I can’t help you.”

Not a question, but a statement I’m used to hearing phrased differently multiple times on an almost daily basis. I won’t tell her about the nightmares. I won’t burden either of them with my self doubt or my guilt. This entire battle is my cross to bear and yet here they are and out there more people are dying everyday. I’ve already taken too much from too many, I’ve already asked too much of my best friends. But the set of her jaw and the angle of her chin tells me she’ll not let this go. Deflection is my best option here.

“I was up late- thinking.”

Hermione can’t contain her surprise at having received a genuine answer. Her eyebrows shoot nearly up to her hairline and her mouth opens slightly. I feel a twinge of guilt at the fact that my best friend could ever be so surprised that I would share something with her but I know my distant behavior has been necessary. She doesn’t take long to recover, though.

“Thinking about what?”

Her eyes are round and face serious as she leans forward, putting her elbows on her knees and hugging the blanket to herself more tightly. I again feel slightly shamed for having kept her at arms length but I quash the sentiment as quickly as it rises. No use regretting what has to be.

“Well, I’ve wondered if I should wait for Ron…”

“No, tell me!”

She blushes lightly and clamps her mouth shut, then titters.

“It's only, we haven’t talked in ages, Harry.” She gives a small smile and it’s only a little sad for which I am grateful.

I consider a moment longer, then jog to sit beside her. “Alright.” I beam at her as she shifts the blanket around me to share body heat.

“Well… I’ve been considering returning to the Burrow to talk to Remus.”

Hermione’s eyebrows knit together. “Why? That's a dangerous move.”

“Well, we’re not really getting anywhere with the Horcruxes and I've thought he might know something…”

“He's already told us Dumbledore didn't talk to him about it.”

“No, but I know someone he might have… and Remus might know how to get to him.”

Hermione’s eyebrows try to escape once more, “Why haven't you mentioned this before?! If you know someone that might know- oh, Harry! That's just fantastic! Who is it?”

I consider the fire and wring my hands. I’m suddenly glad Ron isn't here. “You’ll probably think I'm barmy.”

“I’ll try to understand. I’m not Ron.”

I can't help but laugh at our similar thought process, but continue worrying my hands and staring at the fire. She takes one of my hands in her own and draws my attention.

“Go on.”

I take a deep breath and spit the name out like a tack. “Snape.”

She drops my hand and stares, obviously gobsmacked. It's been a morning of surprises for Hermione.

“Hear me out.”

I go through everything I’ve been thinking in regards to the man. The vow I heard him mention to Draco, the conversation on the astronomy tower that won’t leave my head. His status as a spy and position in Voldemort's court. If he is truly the man that Dumbledore thought he was, he could be invaluable.

Hermione takes everything I’ve said into consideration. She’s quiet for a long while as she stares, unfocused, at the fire dancing merrily in front of us. When she looks back at me, I note the trepidation in her voice and suddenly frail features.

“He killed Dumbledore.”

It’s said quiet and slow. As if it were a curse and not a statement. Suddenly, for the lump in my throat, I can only nod. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before I speak but she continues.

“Even if you’re right it would be incredibly risky for Remus to try and get to Snape at Hogwarts.”

I nod again. “Still, if I’m right about the Order, perhaps he knows a way to communicate with him without actually having to physically get into Hogwarts.”

“… Well I suppose. But… he killed Dumbledore, Harry!”

I heave a sigh. A lot of things have changed for me, about me since our time abroad started. There’s been so much quiet. So much time to sit, stare at a gray sky surrounded by the whispering of leaves or the murmuring of a river. Sometimes everything was so still, Hermione with a book and Ron either napping or reading himself, that their isn’t even sound to distract me from my thoughts. Months had lead to this moment, and now I find myself trying to lead Hermione to a knowledge I didn’t necessarily want.

“Alright, stay with me on this one…”

Everything seems to slow down. Before the words could form, before the thought could be fully brought to the forefront of my mind, I am suddenly certain of something I’d only just begun to consider a few nights ago.

“Hermione… consider this. Dumbledore knew, I suspect, from the beginning of the school year, that Draco had been ordered by the Dark Lord to kill him. How did he know that?”

Hermione quirks an eyebrow at me, “Snape found out and told him.”

I nod. “And then I heard Snape tell Draco he’d made the unbreakable vow, the vow to assist him in anyway necessary I assume-”

Hermione cuts in, “Harry, this is all speculation.”

“Nothing else makes sense, Hermione!” She’s slightly taken aback by my harsh tone and I exhale sharply and start again. “I know it’s mostly conjecture but I’ve been over it time and time again. I know that, but it’s still a possibility that we all ought to consider. Ask yourself one thing, do you really think Dumbledore would be so easily fooled, or that he could be so blind? Just… listen. Draco was lowering his wand that night. He wouldn’t have done it, so… if Snape’s vow was to help him, Snape had to. Or they both would have died.”

Hermione gives a small quiet gasp and her eyes dart to focus distantly on something behind me as she begins to consider what I’ve just said.

I take it as encouragement and continue quickly. “Dumbledore was already going to die, Tom’s fathers ring had cursed him. There was no undoing it and it was only a matter of time. Either way I don’t think he would have allowed either of them to die that night. I think he would have given his life a dozen times to keep Snape's position as a spy safe.”

Hermione nods at me slowly. She’s gone somewhat pale and seems deep in thought. I give her a moment to catch up.

Her eyes meet mine. “Harry.. I think you’re right.”

I stare at her a moment longer before I grasp her hand and finally give in to the niggling that keeps me up at night.

“If I’m right… Hermione, he’s trapped in that school, forced to let those awful things happen to the students, to let the Death Eaters he’s surrounded by have their way with the school. He killed someone he loved at their request, and then we all turned our backs on him because we never wanted to trust him in the first place. Dumbledore was all he had and he made Snape kill him. And now he’s alone.”  
Hermione has grown more and more pale, but now has an air of determination about her. “I’ll talk to Ron, we’re going to the Burrow today. Remus was the only person that I ever heard defend him aside from Dumbledore. If someone wants to help, it will be him. It’s Saturday today. Arthur will be home. He’ll get ahold of him for us.”

I nod and we both stare into the fire for a while. Hermione eventually picks up the kettle and pours us both tea. We drink and sit in companionable silence, both contemplating the shades of gray that make up the world and the people unfortunate enough to be stuck in the more dubious roles.

I eat a few hardboiled eggs and some crackers and then go about my usual morning task of chopping fire wood in better spirits than I’ve felt in months. The issue with Snape must have been weighing on my mind more than I'd truly considered. I take the short walk up hill from our rocky camp beside a river to the grove of birches we’ve been thinning out as use for firewood. I remove my outer coat and put on work gloves Hermione insisted I start wearing when she saw the callused state I'd worked my hands to after our first month in the woods. Just as well, with the weather being what it is. Ron bemoaned his poor fortune every time Hermione forced him to share my workload, cursing the day we'd decided to stop using magic unless strictly necessary. I actually enjoy the physical labor. It’s a welcome reprieve from the inside of the tent and the guilt that seizes my heart at every sniffle my friends make. I suppose it isn’t strictly necessary that I chop wood, considering we’ll be leaving the camp today, but I need something to occupy my mind and work out the residual nervous energy I have from talking to Hermione.

The wind whispers through the trees, and frost from last night’s rain and sleet patters off of their limbs onto the forest floor around me. For the first time in a long while I take pause and simply enjoy my surroundings. Now that we finally have a plan of action I can stop obsessing over the thoughts that have weighed so heavily on my mind and recognize the beauty of my surroundings. Winter has always appealed to me. While summer is my favorite season, winter has it’s own appeal. It seems a season of contradictions, the difference between a calm and gentle fresh fallen snow and the harsh, enduring cold and gray that takes hold of the world. How nature can still seem dark while covered in white. I take in the gray sky, the cold brush of wind against my cheeks. I fill my lungs with the refreshing chill, note the calming sway and creek of the surrounding birch trees, tall and ancient. The isolation of the wilderness always brings me a feeling of consecration, as if I’m standing on holy grounds. The winter weather only serves to add to the experience. I inhale deeply again and yank our hatchet out of the stump I left it in the day before. Picking up where I left off, I begin the task of splitting the logs Ron and I had limbed the day before. As much as I love magic and flying, and hated working in Aunt Petunia’s garden, there’s something to be said for this strenuous physical labor. I typically go for three hours at a time, until my back and arms ache and my hands all but scream to release the hatchet. Today I think I won’t go quite so long, but I’ll see if Hermione knows of an easy way to transport all the wood we have stored to the Weasley's. It seems a rather trivial trade for the danger I’ll be placing them in by being at their home, but it is something to offer nonetheless.

Sometime later I hear the sound of our tent rustling. I drop the hatchet where I stand and go back to the camp site. The crisp, frost covered leaves crunching below my feet serve to drag my thoughts back to the here and now, the ground essentially grounding me. When I arrive, Ron is standing with his wand out, the tent folding itself seemingly of it’s own accord in midair some feet above and in front of his head. He grins broadly at me, eyes lit with joy.

“Back to the Burrow today then, mate?”

I give back a genuine smile for the first time in what feels like forever. No matter that he’ll likely hate me later, I’m glad to be doing something to make him happy for a change. “Yeah. Back to the Burrow.”

“Mum's going to be glad to see you, I’m sure she’ll take the state of you as a challenge. Probably going to be bangers and mash for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Likely with afternoon tea too!”

“Oi, come off it. I'm not that thin.”

“Tell that to your wrist bones.” Hermione joins in, grabbing hold of my upper arm to more closely inspect the offending limb.

She gives a startled gasp though and removes her hand as if I’ve burned her. “Wow, Harry!”

“What?” I ask, somewhat afraid of the awed expression she’s taken on. I start examining my jacket, thinking perhaps some splinter of wood attached itself to me and stuck her in return.

“Just… well you’re always wearing so many layers I suppose I never noticed.”

“Noticed what?”

She blushes elegantly, but deeply and looks to Ron, then down at her feet.

“Noticed what?” I ask again.

“Well, you have been chopping loads of wood, it only makes sense.”

Now certain of said splinter, I begin my jacket inspection in earnest once more. “Sorry, is your hand alright?”

“What on earth do you mean, is my hand alright?”

“Well… wait, what were you going on about?”

Both thoroughly confused she releases a long suffering sigh and shakes her head as if to clear the air of confusion between us with a wave of her bushy hair.

“Goodness, you honestly must be the most unobservant- Harry, you’ve been cutting wood for months, your arms are like steel!”

She proclaims this just as Ron joins the conversation, after having properly shrunk his family tent and placed it in Hermione’s ever-expanding purse.

“What are you doing feeling Harry's arms?” Ron clenches his jaw stubbornly and eyes me, and then her, angrily.

In spite of fervent denials and long conversations on both of our parts, he still holds on to a small amount of jealousy and paranoia where our relationship is concerned. “Oh Ronald, honestly. He’s your best friend of seven years and your sisters boyfriend, you can’t really still be acting like this.”

Ron looks appropriately shamefaced and I do too. Hermione mistakes it for embarrassment at her comment about my arms and I'm glad to not have to explain the true cause, “… your sisters boyfriend…” rings through my head like an accusation. Ron's voice cuts through my thoughts before I can bury myself too deeply in guilt.

“Might help if you’d said a word about me!” Ron makes a show of flexing though there’s no chance anyone could see a thing through all his layers.

“Might have helped yours along more if you’d helped!” Hermione chastises.

I laugh as Ron makes his objections, though his blush proves he knows she’s right.

“Alright, alright. So, are we ready?” Ron folds his arms across his chest and huffs, looking very much the indignant child.

“Yes I think so. Harry I took liberty with your things again, I hope you don’t mind.” Hermione says it matter-of-factly, sounding as if she couldn’t care less if I mind.

I find myself grinning from ear to ear. This is the most light hearted fun we’ve had since leaving the Burrow all those months ago. It's enough to lend me a sense of urgency to be getting back there. “Don’t mind in the least. Thank you, in fact. I’m ready to get it, it's monkeys out here!”

“Spot on, let’s go already!”

“For Merlin’s sake, you boys! Alright then let’s get a move on.” Hermione collects her purse and scopes the camp site once more. “You’re quite sure you’ve both got everything?”

“How could I be, what with you and your ‘liberties’?” I'll not drop the ribbing so easily.  
She only huffs and rolls her eyes.

"Alright then, take my arms.”

We do as we’re told and in the blink of an eye we’re transported from our frosty camp and lurching our way toward the Burrow.

In our absence a heavy snow begins to fall, effectively burying both hatchet and would be luggage, the forgotten firewood.


	2. Revelations

We arrive just outside the Burrows wards, on thankfully dry ground. The marshes are frozen in the unseasonably cold spring weather. The three of us take in a the wonderful sight before us, the sun rising in the distance just beyond what has become the most wonderful place in all the world.

The Burrow.

My heart patters joyously in my chest, as if it has the wings of a snitch. I stand transfixed by the sight, smoke billows welcomingly out of every chimney. A light flickers in an upstairs window. I imagine I can smell the scent of ham and potatoes and freshly mown grass and all other things good wafting toward me. We all let out a breath I’m certain none of us knew we were holding.

We're home.

“Do you smell biscuits?” Ron breaks the silence and begins walking (nearly jogging really) toward the heavenly sight. Hermione giggles and follows close behind, scolding him to at least hug his mother before demanding meals. A rooster crows and an unexpected pang of guilt knocks the wind from my sales. I’m endangering these wonderful, innocent people. I’m a danger to all that I love most. Every second that we spend here is something to regret, as it is only a matter of time before trouble finds me. When it does, anyone near me will be considered a target. 

I’ll waste no time, in and out. And if it’s possible, I’ll convince Ron and Hermione to stay behind.

I jog to catch up. They’re inside before I get to the door and I slow down as I hear a cry of joy from the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known.

“Ron, oh Ronald! My sweet boy, dear son, oh love! Arthur! Arthur, come QUICK! Ron's home, he’s back! Oh Hermione, dear girl, come here, come here!” 

I hear Hermione give a small, “Oomph,” as she’s pulled into one of Molly Weasley’s infamous, all encompassing, rib crushing, magnificent hugs. I creep through the open door and see her jovial face peering between Hermione’s bushy hair and Ron’s flame colored head. Tears stream down her plump, pink cheeks and she still has both of her loving arms wrapped around their shoulders. My soul warms and my heart overflows with peace as I take in the well loved sight. This kitchen, my friends and this welcoming woman. The happiest times of my life have, so far, occurred after much a similar scene. No matter how long I stay, I’m glad to get to experience this one more time.  
Just then Mr. Weasley’s descends the stairs with record speed and Mrs. Weasley’s opens her glistening eyes. When she see's me, her smile shifts to sadness and she waves a hand for me to join the hug as Arthur grasps his sons shoulder and smiles proudly. Just once, I’d like to be smiled at like that. To be looked at with anything less than concern or bittersweet affection. Nevertheless, I’ll take comfort where I can get it. I step into her arms as Ron and Hermione leave them. She pats my back fondly.

“Oh, Harry, dear. You’re skin and bones!”

“Told ya, mate.”

“Shut it, Ronald.” Hermione whispers, harshly.

“Breakfast's nearly ready!” Mrs. Weasley’s sniffles, holds me at arms length and looks me over. She seems to have to choke back more tears and proclaims that we all need showers. I can’t help but chuckle.

Hermione proclaims, “Oh, heavens, yes! I’ll leave your trunks in Ronald’s room!” and dashes up the stairs.

Ron gives himself a surreptitious sniff and I smirk, knowing we all smell exactly as bad as one might suspect. He grins lopsidedly at me and then nods, following Hermione up the stairs. I look to Arthur Weasley, who pats his wife on the back between her shoulders crooning something encouraging as she sets about making extra breakfast. She nods, then turns to face him and beams brightly before pecking him on the cheek. They share an adoring look before he notices my presence and walks toward me.

“Harry, my boy, however have you been?’ He claps me firmly on the shoulder and gives me an incredibly similar grin to the one Ron just graced me with.

“As well as can be expected I suppose…” I consider waiting for Ron and Hermione before I delve into business, or at least waiting for breakfast, but then think again of how dangerous it is for all involved to spend more time here than strictly necessary. “I hate to impose Mr. Weasley but I’m here with on a bit of a mission.”

Mr. Weasley's expression turns business cordial as he says, “Of course, dear boy, whatever else. Perhaps it can wait until after breakfast?”

“Certainly, but it might be best if we at least begin the discussion.”

Mr. Weasley seems taken aback and reconsiders me. He looks me over again and places his strong hand back on my shoulder. “Not such a boy any longer, eh then? What can I do for you Harry?” 

A grin back, a bit sadly. “Again, sorry to impose, but we’re in desperate need of Remus.”

“Remus Lupin? Whatever for?”

“Well, it’s sort of sensitive. I’d rather talk to him about it before I bother you and Mrs. Weasley with it.”

His brow furrows slightly and he gives me another long, sad, considering look. “Alright, Harry. Anything you need. I’ll just firecall him and see if he fancies a spot of breakfast. Sound alright, Molly?” 

I give him what I hope is a reassuring grin and watch him move to the living room. Mrs. Weasley rushes to me and grabs my left shoulder tightly as she begins to remove my layers without so much as asking permission. “Harry dear, I’m not certain you’d make it through a shower without starving to death. Breakfast first for you, dear!” She removes my outer jackets, leaving me in a sweater of her creation. Maroon with a brilliant, golden H. When she sees it, her eyes well with tears and she cups my cheeks with pudgy, loving hands. I give her a small smile, happy to feel an adored child for a brief moment in my life. She dabs at her eyes and then ushers me to a chair at the breakfast table near by. “Alright, you! Sit! Sit, sit, sit! You’re going to eat every last bite! I won’t have any arguing!” she moves away and quickly returns with two skillets, one with scrambled eggs and the other with bacon. She loads my plate before bustling off again and returning with biscuits and jam. A third trip to retrieve potatoes and gravy and forth trip for porridge and juice. I wonder at her ability to have produced all of this so quickly, and a kiss on my cheek brings me back to myself. “Eat up, young man! No dallying, no argument! Eat!” Then she bustles back to the kitchen and I set about my pleasant task.

Halfway through my eggs Arthur returns with Remus Lupin and a heavily pregnant Tonks in tow.

“Hullo, Harry!” Tonks fairly beams at me before bumping into a table near the entrance to the kitchen and barely catching the flower vase displayed there. 

Remus places a hand on her lower back and leads her to a seat across the table and to the left of me. He takes the seat to her right. “Harry.” He smiles at me, the warm smile only he has, and looks for all the world as if he’s truly only stopped by for breakfast.

Mrs. Weasley bustles back in with two plates that she places in front of each of them. Then turns to a cabinet on the wall behind Remus and retrieves two glasses, then two tea cups after she sets those down. Arthur announces that he’s departing for town and he’ll be back shortly. As I wait for the extra parties to leave I take in Mrs. Weasley’s sunflower table cloth. The flowers seem to be swaying slightly, as if in a breeze. The occasional bug lights onto a flower before flouncing away and it seems as if the tablecloth contains the very essence of sunshine itself. I suddenly feel vile for tarnishing this place with the darkness that surrounds my life. I look at Tonks' globular abdomen peeking over the top of the kitchen table. She meets my eye and smiles knowingly.

“Suspect you boys have a fair bit of catching up to do.” She rises from the table and moves toward the kitchen. “Molly! Could you use some help with breakfast? Oh! And have you got any pickled kippers?”

Remus chuckles indulgently.

“Pickled kippers? For breakfast?” I ask unbelievingly.

“She has them at every meal. I suspect the baby will come out part fish.” Concern crinkles to corners of his eyes and mouth and he stares unseeing at a lady bug flying around a burn in the table cloth. He heaves a sigh and brings his eyes back to mine. “I imagine you didn’t really want to meet for breakfast? Though you do seem to be putting it away.” He smiles that good naturedly at me as I shovel more eggs and bacon into my mouth.

After a long swallow of pumpkin juice I nod and clear my throat. I gather my thoughts and prepare to start the process of persuasion over again. 

Before I begin Remus holds up a hand. “I have something for you that I think you should see before we start whatever’s obviously worrying you so.” Too surprised to respond, I simply look on him as he digs through his ever present satchel and removes something flat and rectangular, wrapped in tan, wrinkled paper and tied with thin tweed rope.

“I acquired this in a rather odd manner. A man brought it to me, weeks ago. Said it was from Dumbledore and that he’d said it was imperative you receive it.” He looked somewhat ashamed as he confessed, “I’ve tried to open it, it’s charmed to make anyone who tries forget what they’re doing if they think to lift the spell or try to open it.” He smiles shyly as I laugh raucously. 

“Well, let’s open it then!” My excitement is barely contained as I rip the paper off. It reveals a rectangular leather case, complete with a brass lock and hinges. “Looks like… what is this, a journal?”

Remus shrugs and looks as bewildered and excited as I feel. 

When I touch the lock, it singes me slightly but then clicks open about an inch. When I open it the rest of the way, my breath is taken away. There are three glass vials with a very familiar silver, spiraling liquid contained within. Sectioned of to the left is another familiar, somewhat glowing liquid. There is nothing else on the inside. No note or even a monogram.

“Oh dear Lord. It’s a pocket pensieve,” Remus exhales shakily. “These are incredibly rare. I’d honestly begun to doubt they even existed!”

Our eyes meet across the table and in that moment I know what the memories will reveal. I know why Remus received this and that I made the right choice coming here. That same certainty from the campsite washes over me and the confidence feels alien to me. But I am positive anyway.

“Let’s do it, then.” My statement startles him and he looks uncertain. 

“Harry. Perhaps you ought to look at these yourself first.”

I shake my head. “If that were true you never would have come into possession of this package.”

My confidence makes him reconsider me, and I receive another assessing look, almost the same as the one Arthur gave me. 

“Alright then Harry, whatever you think is best.”  
I stand and take the memory closest to the left into shaking fingers. My adrenaline peaks as I pour the shining memory into the reflective pool. I look to Remus as he takes out his wand and I take out mine. 

“On three?” I see the tremble in his hand and wonder if it’s from the recently passed full or an adrenaline similar to mine. Whatever the cause, I’m sure the moment isn’t lost on him. Whatever we find in these memories is sure to change all of our lives.

“On three.” I agree.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Eager as I am to see what Dumbledore’s given you… why are you so sure I’m meant to see this?”

I consider his quizzical expression a moment longer and then grin at him and say, “I came here to ask you to help me contact, and possibly save, Severus Snape.”

By the look on his face, a passerby might have thought I’d just asked him to kiss me. When that thought crosses my mind I feel a sort of object horror and wonder what’s wrong with me. I mentally shake myself and then say, “Ready, then?”

He opens his mouth then quickly closes it and nods, giving me an impish grin. “On three,” we ready ourselves over the pensieve, “one, two, three!”

I feel a pull, as if I’m falling asleep. And then I’m tumbling through murky, multicolored waters. When I land, I’m almost completely disoriented, but after my recent experiences with pensieve's I regain my senses quickly. I note Remus beside me thoroughly discombobulated, and place a hand on his back. Dumbledore's voice draws my attention.

“Severus, tea? Lemon drop?” He smiles benignly through us, but I could swear he meets my eye first.

The quiver in my stomach twists and suddenly I am short of breath. To hear his voice and see his face again. To hear him offering tea and lemon drops again even if it is to...

“Honestly, Albus. Will you never learn?” Him. In all His billowing, bat-like, looming glory. Only it’s not. He looks tired, but that’s an understatement. He looks as though he’s dead on his feet, depressed and to my great surprise, frightened. I am unable to look away as he flops unceremoniously into the chair that I always sat in when I visited the headmaster. 

He puts a hand over his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Dear boy, what's happened?” Dumbledore leans forward on his desk and folds his hands, one blackened and apparently shriveling, together. His voice expresses all the surprise I feel at seeing Snape this way. 

“I'm not a boy, Albus.” His voice wavers slightly and Dumbledore sits up straight.

“Severus, tell me what’s happened.” His voice is serious and it isn’t a request.

Snape adjusts his posture and lowers his hand. As he straightens, he pulls his robe in across his chest and straightens it. He smooth’s his hands down it and though it’s the first time I’m seeing it I can tell that this is almost a nervous tick for the austere man. As he adjusts himself he seems to regain some of his usual haughty attitude.  
“I was summoned several days ago, as you know.” Snape seems unable to meet Dumbledore’s eye. He begins picking imaginary lint off pristine, if slightly rumpled, robes. “The Dark Lord held a small council. Only Malfoy’s senior and junior were in attendance aside from myself. You see, the matter he wished to discuss was Hogwarts specific.” 

It's painfully obvious that he’s avoiding coming out with the crux of the matter. I wouldn’t have thought it possible but he looks much more pale that usual. I look at Remus who looks back at me with all the same disbelief I’m feeling written plainly in his expression. 

Dumbledore makes a small gesture with his good hand for Snape to continue.

Snape inhales deeply then proceeds with little more confidence. “You will recall, some time ago I bore witness to the marking ceremony of Draco Malfoy. The Dark Lord informed him at the time that there would be a proving assignment at a later date. This council was called to announce said task before all those necessary to his assistance.” He pauses again and pales further. He runs a potion stained, elegant hand down his face. 

I’m taken aback at having just considered his hand elegant.

“Do continue, Severus.” Dumbledore's statement is met a with a razor sharp glare.

“You are, no doubt, aware that patience is a virtue, you old kook?” He sneers at Dumbledore and I feel as though my soul has left my body.  
Severus Snape once sat in Dumbledore's office and made a joke at his expense.

And Dumbledore laughed.

“On your time then.” Dumbledore props his chin on his good hand and smiles at Severus indulgently.

Severus looks as though he’s going to be ill. He puts his head in his hands and exhales shakily.  
“I’m becoming very concerned, Severus.”

“As you well should be. The Dark Lord has ordered Draco Malfoy to kill you.” 

This statement is met with silence. After perhaps one minute Dumbledore prods him by saying, “I don’t suppose that’s my cause for concern?”

Snape lifts his head and looks at Dumbledore. The eyes that meet sparkling blue hold all the weight of the world. The face I am so used to seeing twisted into a sneer or scowl is drawn downward with that same weight. He looks to me, in that moment, weary and pained. Tired and soft. Not at all the Severus Snape I thought I knew.

“Narcissa and Bellatrix visited my home the next day. Narcissa asked me to help Draco however possible.”

“Oh, good!” Dumbledore beams congenially.

Snape actually gapes undignified at him. “Excuse me?!”

“He’s only a boy, Severus, a boy under our care. I’ll not have him kill me if it comes to that. I won’t have him sullied so.”

Snape shoots to his feet. Outrage written all over him. “But you would have me do it?”

“Severus, who would you prefer?”

“I would prefer you live! I would prefer you not allow that ferret back inside this building!”

“We both know that’s not possible. It’s too obvious a move.” 

“You don’t understand. Bellatrix forced my hand, Albus, she forced me to make the unbreakable vow! If you remain here, or if I remain here or if Draco comes to school this year… someone WILL DIE.”

Snape has taken to pacing like a caged animal in front of Dumbledore’s desk. He runs a shaky hand through long, greasy locks and then stops directly before the headmaster. He crosses his arms over his chest and stares Dumbledore down.

“With any luck, it will be me at your hand, you dear creature.”

Snape pales and flops into the chair once more. “How can you say that? I can’t do it. I won’t do it.”

“You can, you will and you must.”

“No.”

“If you will not, then you will die. Draco won’t do it, but if he does it will haunt him for the rest of his life. You would damn him so?”

Snape says nothing, but continues to glare.

“I am dying anyway, Severus,” Dumbledore holds up the afflicted appendage, “you said so yourself.”

“You must live. What of the horcruxes?”

So he does know.

“I will be dead before the end of the school year. Harry is perfectly capable of finding and destroying them.”

“Please, Albus…” it's shaky, and barely more than a whisper. The potions master closes his eyes and clutches his robe closer.

“There are more terrible things in the world than an old kook finally giving up the ghost.”

“I simply can’t do this Albus. I would rather die.” He looks steadfast when he says it, and I believe him. Sorrow fills my heart as I consider his current position. 

“Enough with the dramatics. You must do this and I consider it very fortunate on your part that you were propositioned and did not have to wheedle your way onto this particular small council. Honestly I am surprised at your reaction. I have been expecting this very outcome for years. Are you really so shocked?”

Snape's head falls back to his hands.

“You cannot fail me on this. Your position is far too valuable. This makes it obvious to me that either you are fully trusted by the Dark Lord or you are being tested. Harry will need you in his inner circle after I am gone. It is imperative that you succeed.” 

At the mention of my name he lifts his head again and nods. 

“Harry will be taken to the Burrow the following summer?” 

I don’t believe I have ever heard him say my name in anything other than a mocking tone or without Potter being spit out afterwards. It comes as quite the shock to hear him speak it softly, almost as if he doesn’t hate me. 

Dumbledore nods. “Tell the Dark Lord the date we're moving him. It will serve to further his trust in you. We’ve taken many precautions, hopefully no one will become too injured.” 

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Dumbledore orchestrated that fiasco?!

“Do you really think that’s the wisest course of action?”

“I don’t see that you have any other choice. If you prove that you’re not privy to those sorts of details what good will you be to him? Harry needs you to do this.”

Snape nods again, but seems less sure.

“For Harry, Severus.”

“For Harry.” He says it reverently.

The memory fades and I find myself drifting back to the surface, out of the past and into our own time and the Weasley’s kitchen. I stare blankly at the pocket pensieve and the swirling thread of memory it contains. What did I just hear? Was that Severus Snape, whispering my name as though I truly were the savior of wizard-kind?

“It’s as I thought.” Remus is looking at me kindly, as if he can sense my confusion. He himself looks a little conflicted so I suppose it’s not impossible that he knows what I’m feeling.

“What's that?” I croak around a sudden and unexpected dryness in my throat.

Remus looks back to the pensieve and considers something else. “Perhaps we should take in the rest of what Dumbledore wanted you to see before I open my mouth.” 

Just then however, Tonks rounds the corner and Arthur Weasley returns home. 

“My stars, is that a pocket pensieve?!” Tonks asks, looking between the two of us.

Arthur stops dead in his tracks. “Well, Bob's your uncle! What’s all this then?” 

Without really thinking, I jump to the box in question and close it. I look around the room, then to Remus and decide to act.

“Severus Snape remains loyal to the Order.” I say it calmly, and slowly. 

Molly Weasley drops a pitcher of juice and it shatters on the floor. 

I prepare to fight for the life of a man who, until moments ago, I thought hated me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Negative attention is still attention! If you hate it, tell me! If you love it, argue with the people that hate it! :D


	3. Growing Pains

“Severus Snape remains loyal to the Order.” Ron and Hermione stop dead in their tracks just beyond the entrance to the dinning room. Hermione looks at Ron apprehensively, anticipating what is sure to be an intense reaction. 

“Did you just say-“ Ron snorts in the back of his throat and my head whips in their direction at the sound of his voice, “alright, very funny mate, you’re having us on.” Ron grins in that same lopsided way of his, but eyes me warily. 

I look to Hermione expectantly. She said she was going to talk to him, so why is he looking at me like that?

Hermione tugs the edge of her lip with her teeth, folds her arms across her chest and scuffs at the ground with her left foot. 

Ah, she didn’t tell him anything other than that we were returning to the Burrow. This should be interesting. 

“No, Ron. I’m not having a go at anyone. I mean it.”

The amount of surprised, incredulous stares I’ve received just today would be comical if it wasn’t for the fact that every passing second is like that of a ticking bomb. We simply don’t have time for all of this gaping. Thankfully, Remus comes to my rescue.

“It's true. This,” he lays his hand on the brown leather box in front of us on the kitchen table, “is Albus Dumbledore’s pocket pensieve.” More gasps and gaping follow the statement. “The memory we've just witnessed proves that he was acting on Dumbledore’s orders and is continuing to do so at this very moment.” 

Ron just continues to look back and forth between us, slack jawed and eyes wide. Hermione looks pleased and I suspect it's because there won't be an argument on the subject. Molly has seated herself at head of the breakfast table, nearest the kitchen, Tonks has one hand on her mouth, eyebrows knit in concern and the other hand rests on her considerable baby bump. Remus gives me an approving, encouraging smile and places a hand on my shoulder. Arthur breaks the silence.

“Well, Remus. You know what we have to do now.” I snap my head and peer around Lupin at a seemingly meek Arthur Weasley. “If what you say is true, we need to let him know we're behind him. Call him.”

“Dad, you can't really just be going along with this?! He killed Dumbledore! They're torturing students at Hogwarts! I don't care what you saw in that pensieve, the man’s a bloody Death Eater! He belongs in Azkaban!” Ron is nearly purple when he's through, but doesn't seem any less upset. So much for getting through this without a fight.

“This might be difficult for you to accept Ron, and understandably so, but Snape was acting on Dumbledore’s orders that night on the astronomy tower. He maintains his position at Hogwarts because Dumbledore insisted he do so to help our cause.” Remus implores Ron to be reasonable with his gentle eyes and kind features, but Ron is having none of it. 

“You expect me to believe that Dumbledore told Snape to kill him, take over Hogwarts, fill it with Death Eaters and torture the children? I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Dumbledore?” Ron juts his chin, stomps a foot and crosses his arms defiant and childlike. Remus takes a deep breath and gears up for a fight, but I decide to cut in before we spend the better part of the day wasting time arguing.

The only thing I’ve gained from my self imposed withdrawal from society is the rather impressive ability to defuse arguments, redirect questions and end a conversation. Anything I can’t or won’t answer, any conversation I’m uninterested in is over before it truly begins. I think Dumbledore would be proud.

“Ron, I don’t expect you to believe Dumbledore wanted this, how could he? But Remus and I know for certain that he ordered Snape to kill him. I know it seems crazy but since when does anything about Dumbledore make sense? All we’ve ever been able to do is whatever he says and hope we achieve the desired outcome. I want to honor him Ron, I don’t want his death to be another senseless event, if he had a reason for doing this, the only person that might know it is Snape. We have to talk to him.” I end my declaration pleadingly, another benefit of keeping everyone at arms length is that any emotion you display gives them pause.

Ron looks at me as if he’s never seen me before. But as what I said sinks in past his surprise at my honesty, he begins to nod. “Still, it seems dangerous mate. What if he's turned coats?”  
“Dumbledore meant as much to him as he did to any of us. Can you imagine having to do what he’s done just because someone asked? Only loyalty could make someone do a thing like that.”

Ron goes slightly pale and shakes his head minutely. He heaves a heavy hearted sigh and once again I kick myself for burdening his life with such things. For the third time that day I hear, “Alright Harry, whatever you say.” 

I wonder when what I had to say began to carry any weight.

I nod and turn my attention back to Remus and Mr. Weasley before my expression can reveal any guilt at manipulating my best friend with his own emotional nature and a man’s death. “So what do we do? You said call him, you can’t very well just pop up in the fire what with Death Eaters crawling about the place.”

Remus shakes his head. “Dumbledore gave us a way to contact Snape in an emergency when everything started again. Never knowing what…precarious situation he might be in when we needed him, we had to find some discreet way keep in touch.” Remus reaches into his satchel again and pulls out a small, felt coin bag. He pulls out a shiny red button and sets it aside, then a marbled tan button and sets it on the breakfast table as well, then a black, then an orange. He chuckles lightly, “Dumbledore had quite an extensive button collection.” 

I crack a smile and glance around the room. Through apprehension and shock, the corners of mouths are slightly upturned and sadness can be read in my friends expressions. How many years will it take before his memory inspires anything other than bittersweet sentiment?

“Aha! Here we are.” Remus holds out perhaps the most nondescript, easily over looked stray button I have ever seen. It's approximately the same diameter and color as an acorn. Remus holds it flat in the palm of his hand and I lean in for closer inspection. The only thing that's note worthy about the button in question is a small, thin nick on the outer edge. 

“So… is it a portkey?” I ask from below my fringe. I’m always embarrassed by how little I know about the wizarding world.

“Yes and no. This button, when activated with a specific spell, communicates with a corresponding button that Snape will hopefully still have in his possession. It alerts him through an itching charm, no doubt Dumbledore's idea. Then, when it’s safe for him and he is able, all he has to do is hold the button between his thumb and forefinger and activate it with his own spell. It acts much as a portkey would by transporting him wherever the other button is.” Remus seems transfixed momentarily by his own description of the clever instrument. Silence reigns in the Weasley kitchen.

“Well, no time like the present!” Tonks declares.

I come back to myself. “Wait!” Everyone jumps at my outburst. “Well, what we’re calling him for, this is going to take a while. I really would prefer not to impose any longer than I have to. Maybe we could do this somewhere less… uh…” I eye the room full of my loved ones nervously. Remus doesn’t make me say it.

“Right. We might be waiting for quite some time. Perhaps it’s for the best just… in case. I believe I have a more appropriate setting in mind.” He glances apprehensively at Ron then tips his head ever so slightly at me. “I’ll give you a moment to talk this over with your friends. I believe Molly mentioned sausages? Seems a shame to skip out on such a lovely breakfast.”

I'm thankful, not for the first time, of his easy nature. Molly seems happy to have something to do and repairs her broken pitcher, banishes the juice and scurries back into the kitchen. Tonks, Remus and Arthur follow. Hermione sits down at the table and pours the three of us tea. Ron and I lock eyes. His gaze is penetrative, searching me and I try for a candid expression. In spite of what the memory revealed and the confirmation of my suspicions, what he'd said about Snape has disturbed me. Could Snape’s current position have really been what Dumbledore intended? He’d planned everything out, right down to his own death, so had he planned on this too? I had always assumed that McGonagall would replace Dumbledore, but it served to reason that with the fall of the ministry to Voldemort's influence Hogwarts wouldn’t be far behind. If Dumbledore had seen that coming, perhaps he saw the current circumstance as an inevitability. But surely he, master strategist that he was, could have done something differently to avoid the things rumored to be happening in his beloved school at this very moment. What reason could anyone possibly have for allowing this sort of thing to transpire? It makes me question Dumbledore, the man I thought I knew. It makes me question my choice to actively seek Snape out. It makes me question myself, but I can’t let any of that show. Not when I know I have to do this and he needs convincing.

I sit back down at the breakfast table, suddenly tired and more than a little tense. Hermione notices my distress and brings me back to the present by offering me the tea she poured mere moments ago. It feels like centuries to me. I take it gladly and eye the pocket pensieve with a mixture of longing and dread. One memory, and I’m back to feeling lost to the will and purpose of others where just this morning I’d felt a renewed sense of drive and determination. One memory, and still two others remain. Apprehension threatens to take over and drown out my will to follow through with our current plans. Ever the Gryffindor, I snuff it out and remember that Dumbledore was nothing if not intensely focused on the greater good. It wouldn’t do to dwell on my own fear and doubt and self pity. Snape obviously doesn’t.

Since when do I consider Snape a model for appropriate behavior?

Ron clears his throat expectantly. I flinch slightly and realize I’d drifted off in thought again. Probably not the most reassuring thing to do. I heave a sigh and meet his demanding blue eyes with a reluctant grimace. Hermione could have saved us a lot of time and trouble by doing this hours ago.

“So what gives?” Ron might have said he'd go along with what I want but he doesn’t sound anymore pleased about it. “One minute you hate the greasy git and he’s a murderer and the next minute you’re ready to invite that traitorous prat over for breakfast? What changed?”  
Me, I think to myself. Instead I say, “Nothing’s changed. That’s the point. We thought Snape betrayed us but he was only doing what Dumbledore told him to. We can’t turn him away for following orders, we need to talk to him.”

Ron scoffs. “And you know that ‘cause of what you saw in that pocket pensieve?”

I only nod in response. Ron continues, “Still, mate. What’s going on at the school, it isn’t right. No normal person could let that go on, spy or not. He could have betrayed us since then, how can you be so sure? What if you call him and he turns up with other Death Eaters and takes you out?”

I rub the light stubble on my cheeks and sigh. I won’t be able to dance around such a direct question. “I dunno mate. I just… have a feeling. Something about the way he looked that night when I saw him. And the way he looked in the pensieve when Dumbledore asked him to do it… he looked…” I think about how surprising it had been to see him look so human when he obviously tries so very hard to come across as anything but. I decide to redirect. “And he was so worried about what would happen after, he even asked Dumbledore what would happen with...” I trail off as a thought occurs to me. Something monumental that might just be the final push they need to come around. “I was right, Hermione, he knows about the horcruxes! He asked Dumbledore what we’d do about them without him. He could know something that might lead us in the right direction. So that’s it, then. He knows about the horcruxes and he’s had plenty of opportunity to let You-Know-Who know, which surely would have set You-Know-Who on our families and out gathering them up. So that’s how we know, if he had truly betrayed us, it’d be over already.” 

Ron considers this. “I dunno… still seems like a stretch.”

Gods, what more could it possibly take to convince him?!

Hermione hesitantly speaks up, “Maybe, if we could see the memory…”

Ron perks up at that and looks to the pensieve. I instinctively dart a hand out to it and pull it towards me protectively. They both give me curious looks but all I can think about is how near broken Snape had looked in that memory, and how he said my name.

No, I couldn’t let anyone else see him like that. It almost seemed like an invasion or an assault on his person.

“Can’t you just trust me?” Low, I realize. Playing on his emotions and our friendship again. Perhaps Dumbledore wouldn’t be proud of me.

Perhaps Snape would.

“Of course, Harry.” Hermione smiles at me, there’s confusion and hurt in her eyes but she seems more than willing to let it go. She gives Ron an encouraging look and a kick to the shin beneath the table. 

Ron grimaces. “Ah! Oi Hermione, really? Taken to beating us, have you?” He reaches below the table and rubs his shin irritably. “Yeah, bruv. I’ll always trust you, but that’s not the problem, is it? I think it’s bleeding mental to trust him. But I reckon you know what you’re doing. Just… we need to be careful, yeah?” 

I grin, relieved to have him on my side. “Always.” I nod earnestly and stare into my tea a while. When I look up I see Hermione eyeing my box and my fingers flex lightly around it. Hermione looks back up at me, and I see the strangest glimmer in her usually gentle eyes. I don’t recognize the look and I return it searchingly. She comes back to herself and a blush that speaks shame colors her cheeks, which only serves to confuse me further. Ron misses the exchange as he’s begun shoveling Mrs. Weasley’s copious breakfast items left for me into his mouth.

He takes notice of my observation of his eating habits and gives another lopsided grin, “You weren’t planning on finishing were you?” 

I laugh in response and he shrugs and continues shoveling away.

Remus taps lightly on the archway between kitchen and dinning room. “Harry, all settled?” I nod and he continues, “Would you like a shower before we take our leave?”

“No, if you can handle the stench of me I think I’d like to just get on with it.” I smirk and rise from the table and brush off the front of my sweater somewhat nervously. 

“No need to shower for that greasy snake.” Ron mumbles it around a mouthful of potatoes and I feel the strangest urge to tell him to piss off. I stamp it down and wonder at the changes a day can bring.

“Right then. Harry, where I’m taking you isn’t glamorous or warm. Honestly, I can’t be sure it’s still standing. But I suspect it is and it should be safe, there's no reason anyone would think to go there. It’s my grandmother’s cottage. She was a muggle and I haven’t been there since I was a boy, but I’ve been considering returning and fixing up the place. I inherited it, for all that it's probably a shack, there just hasn’t been time and well… I’m rambling. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’m not exactly Severus' favorite person as you well know, so this should be interesting. To say the least.” He drums the fingers of his left hand on his satchel strap and perks up on the balls of his feet then drops back down. He looks to Ron and Hermione and gives a small, nervous smile then looks back to me and exhales sharply. “Shall we?”

Ron and Hermione stand and I suddenly think of every moment I’ve ever been called an idiot. Of course they’d think I want them to come. Why would they think otherwise? “Er…” Hermione pauses and glances between Remus and myself. Ron wipes his hands on his pants and gives a small gesture with his shoulder and shakes his head, mouth still stuffed full and chewing. “I think it would be best if just Remus and I went.”

Hermione looks insulted. Ron looks downright furious. He opens his mouth and a small amount of potatoes spill out before he snaps it back shut. I glance at a clock on the wall. Just gone 11, we simply don’t have time for this. 

“Harry’s right. This is likely to be very uncomfortable and I don’t think more former students will help things along. I promise I won’t let anything happen to him.” Remus rescues me once more, and gives my outraged friends a reassuring smile. 

Ron and Hermione just glare between the two of us. I search for words that can end things on a lighter note and they’re too long in coming, everything I can think to say feels like a lie, so I settle for the whitest one among them. “I'll tell you everything.” Their glares soften to concerned stares. 

Remus takes my arm, I pick up the pensieve and we apparate away.

If earlier I’d thought the sight of the Burrow was the reason my breath had been snatched away, I kick myself for not realizing it was the apparation. I wonder if it ever gets better, place my hands on my knees and try to take in my surroundings. The first thing I note is the quiet, the second is the rocky environment. My surroundings are almost exclusively boulders that look to be approximately the size of baby elephants and trees that seem thousands of feet tall. The third thing I notice is the temperature difference. It seems roughly twenty degrees warmer here than the Burrow.

“Ah, how had I ever forgotten. It always was warmer out when we spent Christmas here. I take it back, Harry. Perhaps you will be warm. And I’m pleased to see the place still standing.” I look in the direction Remus is and see a shabby, two story cottage that looks none the worse for wear other than perhaps two decades or so of neglect. I nod my approval, still catching my breath and unable to speak. “My father came and did some work on the place shortly after my grandmothers death. He didn’t get much done though before he… well.” Remus clears his throat and sets about warding the clearing his grandmothers cottage is nestled in and I take a few tentative steps toward the porch.

I see through deteriorating lattice and dead, winding vines of what looks to be ivy, an ancient porch swing and expensive looking stone windows. It looks as if this place must have been a sight to behold at one point in time and I wonder at why anyone would ever let it fall to such disrepair. The stone walls are crumbling in some areas but the roof seems to be holding up. What very little snow there is around us is dripping and I wonder again at the warm weather.

“Where are we?”

Remus, done with his job of setting wards is walking back toward me, one hand in his pocket and eyes on the cottage. “The south of France.” 

I’m surprised. “You’re French?!” 

“Though pain of death would not have made my mother admit it, yes, I’m half French. Among many other things that have happened and undoubtedly will happen today, let's keep that between just the two of us.”

I smile and nod. “Thanks, by the way. For… well, everything today. You’ve been great, you are… great. And... er. Well. Thanks.” I don’t quite know why I’m suddenly so warm and nervous and feel odd about being alone with Remus but I do. It makes me feel idiotic, to be so suddenly shy and uncertain and it is decidedly ridiculous to be feeling this way in the company of someone who I have known for nearly five years. So I square my shoulders and look up from my feet, not at all expecting the site that greets me.

Remus is close. Not inappropriately close, but the kind of closeness that is bred of familiarity. His face is open and kind as ever but there is a curiosity in his eyes and a flush to his cheeks. Those things, combined with our private location and the warmth radiating off of him, lends that familiarity an inappropriate feel. I swallow hard and think to take a step back but before I can, his golden eyes flicker down toward my lips and the smile leaves his face. 

My brain goes blank. Did I really just see that? I had to have imagined it, right? 

Remus clears his throat, “Right, then. In the words of dear Tonks, no time like the present.” He says this to the cabin, then casts me an uncertain look that lacks any of our aforementioned familiarity. He waves for me to join him then sets a brisk pace toward the cottage.

What. The. BLOODY HELL. Was all that?!

I take a moment to regret the warm French weather, knowing it does nothing to cool the raging blush I feel coloring my cheeks, then trail behind him nervously.

There is no step up onto the porch, although it appears there might have been a decade ago. When Remus steps up, the porch groans but appears sturdy enough. “Living the vagabond lifestyle that I have, I know loads of charms and spells that will have this place livable in no time at all. I’ll teach you some. May even have a book or two on hand…” he trails off and looks about the rafters of the portico. I spy several birds nests and not a small amount of dry rot and wish I had his optimism. I hear the door click open and spare a passing thought at whether it had been warded or locked in any way before losing my breath a second time.

Magic will never cease to amaze me. 

The outside of the house may have been shabby, but the inside rivaled the Gryffindor common room for all it’s warmth and homey comfort. An overstuffed, well worn couch sits before an empty and crumbling fireplace to my left. It's flanked by mismatched yet equally overstuffed chairs and multiple end tables cluttered with dusty knickknacks, the brightness of which reveal their French origin. Expensive looking antique rugs cover scuffed hardwood floors, their nicks and dings telling the story of years of abuse. The walls are an odd yellow gray that I assume originates from having been painted some manner of goldenrod once and never touched again. Wooden archways lead into what looks, at a glance across the distance of the living room, to be the kitchen and the dinning room directly before us behind stairs pressed to the wall to the right of us. Given the appearance of the place from outside I wouldn’t have been surprised to have found the inside crumbling as well. As it is, it fairly glows as though there were a roaring fire in the crumbling fireplace, only the layer of dust that coats every surface reveals it’s abandonment.

“Right, nothing a cleaning charm won’t fix.” He smiles at me expectantly and a thought that should have occurred to me much sooner smacks me in the face.

“… I haven’t got a proper wand.”

He looks stunned. “What do you mean?” 

“Hermione broke mine by accident a few weeks ago. Ron gave me one he got off a snatcher, but it doesn’t seem to work very well.” I feel slightly ashamed of myself for not having given that fact much consideration before setting out on this quest. “Well. There isn’t really anything for it, it works well enough most of the time just… I’m a little nervous that I’ll take a layer of paint off with the dust.” I chuckle to hide my embarrassment and fortunately Remus laughs as well. Just like that, the awkward air between us clears.

“I don’t think you can do much harm to the place. Go ahead.” He gestures to the living room.

I take a deep breath and try to muster up all of my intent to the forefront of my mind. Willing the wand to clean the place and not clear it of all paint, possessions and plaster. I flick my wrist and enunciate, “Tergeo,” and am pleasantly surprised at the result. The dust clears off of every surface, and the floors take on a moderately uneven gloss, the only negative effect being that several attractive throw pillows ripped themselves to shreds instead of being fluffed. 

Remus gives that a trademark, lighthearted chuckle and sets to repairing the pillows as soon as their fluff settles. “Yes I suppose it’s serviceable for now. There’s a decent wand craft here in France, perhaps we’ll make a stop on our way back to the Burrow.” Remus walks over to the fireplace and eyes it disdainfully. “I think I’ll fix this, and then perhaps you should watch the other memories Dumbledore sent you. There could be something in them that you’ll need to talk to Severus about, and who knows when or if you’ll have another opportunity.” He sets about repairing the fireplace, murmuring spells and charms while I eye the pensieve warily. 

*They’re only memories, don’t be a bloody coward*

“Yeah, I suppose.” With a heavy heart, I settle on the overstuffed couch behind Remus' back and place the pensieve flat on my lap. I press my finger to the lock and it singes me again before unclasping. I take out my wand and remove the previous memory still floating in the pensieve, fumble through my pocket for the vial it came in and then place it back in the crushed velvet pocket to the right of the pensieve. I make no move to pick up the second memory, preferring for the time being to stare at it glistening harmlessly in it’s glass housing. Feet come in to my field of vision and I meet Remus' concerned gaze.

“We don’t have to do all of this today. I’m more than a little ashamed that I didn’t think to offer you this place before now. If you chose to, I’d like you and your friends to stay here, you can fix it up for me and stay out of the cold. As long as you’re staying here I see no reason why this meeting with Severus can’t wait.” 

“Are you serious?! That would be incredible! You’d honestly let us stay here?”

“Of course, Harry. Anything I can do to help.” 

“That would be fantastic!”

“Well then, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like. Now that you have a comfortable base of operations… are you more inclined to wait to talk to Snape?’

“No… I think it’s important to get this done now.”

“Alright. I’m going to go and get some firewood, maybe try to fix up some of the exterior. I’ll leave you to your pensieve, but I think I’ll call him now. Who knows how long we’ll be waiting, the sooner the better.”

He pulls the button out of his pocket and holds it between thumb and forefinger. 

“Vocare, Severus.”

He smiles and puts the button down on the tea table in front of me, then nods and goes outside. 

I pick up the second memory and take a shaky breath.

*****

Sitting on the other side of Dumbledore's desk feels like sacrilege. I doubt it will ever cease to, and I allow myself a pause in my work to loathe my own existence once again. I have always hated myself, and I have faced every morning regretting that I continue to exist for as long as I can remember. But of late I find I have to stop to hate myself with everything that I am much more frequently than ever before…  
Before that night. Before the astronomy tower. My life has been divided once more. Early on, when I met Lily, my life was divided then. There was before and after Lily. And then there was her death. All things before that ceased to matter, and then there was after. The after being a waking hell, each day knowing that she was still gone and all there was to show for her beauty and spirit was James Potter’s hellion offspring. And now it has happened again. I was in denial about it, that Dumbledore would die by my hand, all the way up until the moment it happened. Afterwards all I could think to do was protect Draco Malfoy. Then he was there, again, as always. Half informed but nothing if not totally intent on getting himself killed. Idiot child. All of this murder, misery and mayhem, for him. To give him time, when if he would have just stopped to think and learn this could, perhaps, already be over.

And Gods, how I long for it to be over.

The crying of children, their screams. It follows me down, into my sleep. It chases me wherever I go, I imagine I can feel the vibrations of their screams in my bones. It's trapped, inside of me, beneath my skin, killing me slowly. As it should. It is no less than what I deserve. Albus asked me to protect the children, I think back to a time when Albus “protected” me, and think if he meant it in those terms then I’ve done my job. 

They are alive and as unharmed as I can manage. 

But still, the screaming.

They practice cruciatus on the first years, they have the children brewing potions they never ought to have heard of, they have them test them on each other. They took all children whose blood status was in question and set up a makeshift inquisition in the dungeons. When I caught wind of it, I did the only thing I could think of and gathered staff and student body to the Great Hall, to stall for time. But by the time I got there and everyone had gathered I could see the damage had already been done. In that moment, I knew things were out of my hands. There was absolutely nothing I could do. To tell the Dark Lord parents were complaining would have him eradicating the student body and their families. To tell him anything else would be arguing with his wishes and I would undoubtedly be killed. So that was it then, there was nothing for it other than a full revolt of all those in Hogwarts, which is highly unlikely. 

After all, Harry Potter isn’t here.

Stupid, ill informed, victim of fate, Harry Potter. To think, three years ago I wanted nothing more than to put an end to his escapades. Now I’m practically counting the minutes until he returns to this place to exact his revenge. I heave a heavy sigh and lean back into Dumbledore's well loved leather chair. I gaze unseeingly at his multitude of astronomy instruments and try very hard to think of nothing in particular. Of course, I'll not be allowed that simple pleasure either.

Amycus Carrow bursts into my office and strides to a seat I frequented in Dumbledore’s time. When he sits, I have to quash the urge to hex him.  
“Hello, Snapey.”

Quash the urge, quash the urge.

“Mr. Carrow.” 

He drums his fingers on the arms of my favorite chair and takes in his surroundings. “When you gonna clear out all that old benders junk? Bloody obnoxious, the way everything tinkles and shines in here.”

“I assume you are not here to discuss my office décor, Amycus? If you are, I would welcome you to make better use of your time.”

“Always right to the point with you. Right, well, I'm here to talk you about the Gryffindor’s. Getting more antsy by the day it seems. I think they know something’s up. What are our veritaserum stores looking like?”

Suddenly, a pinpoint on my breast bone itches like wildfire. Odd. What had Carrow asked? Oh yes, “Our stores are empty of practically everything, as you continue to insist upon wasting my work on these treacherous brats. Not to mention all of my good ingredients. Added to the fact that I have had practically no time for brewing…” I trail off as the fire seizes my breastbone again. An itching charm? I look to Carrow who, judging by strain on his features, looks to be in thought. I watch closely in case this is a poor attempt at wandless magic.

“No matter, I’ll have the seventh years brew some up. If they know something about Potter, we need to know.”

Though I feel like ripping the skin from my chest I make no move to scratch. “If they brew it improperly it's lethal.”

“Then, they’d better do it right.” He gives a vile, crooked toothed grin and rises from his seat. “Besides, there are other ways to go about getting what you want from people.” He eyes me curiously and I surreptitiously palm my wand. “Hey there, Snapey. I’ve heard stories you aren’t quite so straight laced as they say… care for a little of the old… how’s your father?” 

“Oh, whatever would your sister say?” I droll, in spite of the fact that I’m certain there’s a pixie chewing through the skin on my chest.

“Had her this morning, she knows soft and curvy isn’t my type.” He waggles a bushy eyebrow at me and that mornings tea threatens revolt in my stomach. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. Feel free to go and fuck yourself, though.”

Carrow laughs, which was the last reaction I was hoping for but he waves a hand and exits. I rise from Dumbledore’s leather throne and strip my cloak. I claw at my chest and it does nothing to help. I take my wand from my pants pocket and cast finite incantatem. It does nothing. I strip my outer jacket, then my vest, cursing for the first time the many layers I use as a personal defense. Finally down to my plain white shirt I begin my clawing again, to no avail. With an eye roll I begin to strip that as well to examine the irritated area. To my surprise, when I lift the shirt to unbutton it, the itching stops. 

It hits me. The button. Dumbledore's stupid button. 

Dumbledore’s button. Who else would be summoning me? No one in the Order would trust me after that night. How could they? Dumbledore had told me he would tell no one. No one knew, no one has cause to trust me. I killed their leader. 

And yet, someone’s calling me. The only other person that had a button was Alastor Moody. Who had he given his to? How could I have failed to think of it until this moment?

Should I go?

Madness. Surely, this is a trap and they intend to kill me. I scoff. All the more reason to go. I can’t protect the children. I’m not reporting to anyone any longer and trapped here in this school I’m doing nothing to protect Harry. I should go, die at the hands of those who truly deserve to kill me. Let it be over at long last. I charm a quill to take note that I’ve gone on a personal errand. I count and unbutton four buttons down and grasp the fourth between thumb and forefinger, nervous in a way I haven’t been since boyhood, and whisper, “Explicare.” I realize belatedly that I left my robe, jacket and vest behind.

The tugging at my navel is more intense than I remember. When my feet hit solid ground sheer habit keeps me standing through the vertigo. I am warm, and the brightness of wherever I am is almost unbearable. My eyes have become accustomed to the overcast weather and snow of the previous week at Hogwarts, and before that the poorly lit dungeons. I quickly cast my assaulted eyes about the room for would be attackers and am drawn to the snapping shut of something and the following audible click. On a couch before a roaring fire, my eyes register longer than remembered shaggy, impossible raven hair. He is more broad shouldered, his unshaven face no longer shows peach fuzz, and to my great surprise, those eyes (his mothers eyes) are wet with standing tears. My rage at registering his presence, that they would risk him, is replaced by concern. Why is he upset? The concern is quickly replaced again by rage. A glance around the room reveals us to be the only two occupants. He's alone and upset and…

This could still be a trap. 

I draw my wand and point it directly at him.

“What did you see in my office?”

Harry looks momentarily surprised then recovers himself. He sniffles and exhales shakily before saying, “How horrible my father truly was. Or could be.” 

This does not seem like Harry Potter. This is not the Harry Potter I know. I lower my wand but I do not put it away. “Harry, what’s wrong?” He’s staring at a box on a small tea table between himself and the roaring fireplace. “What am I doing here, how did you know to summon me?” Then angrily, “Why are you alone?” Why am I not dead?

He shakes his head sullenly. “Remus summoned you. He’s just outside.” He looks up at me and there’s something in his eyes (emerald jewels, beautiful, beyond compare) I can’t quite name. I would call it concern, or maybe understanding, except that cannot be. Harry Potter would never look at me that way.

“I know Dumbledore told you to kill him. I know you had to do it. I know why, and I’m so sorry.”

I am fairly certain my heart has stopped beating. Perhaps I will die today.


	4. Momentum

I’m descending through another torrent of colors. When I settle and adjust to my surroundings, I find myself in an unfamiliar location looking at a much younger Dumbledore who sits, appearing uncharacteristically agitated, on a low stool drumming his fingers on a chipped tea cup with a faded pattern. The room itself holds almost nothing, a table littered with unopened mail under a window holding a long dead plant. Aside from that, there is one other chair, threadbare and missing a leg, a book propping it up. The floors are filthy, the walls are smeared with what, I’d rather not know. Dumbledore seems unfazed by the filth, though I hear what I assume is the source his agitation. Muffled shouts coming from the next room, two men spewing insults at each other more quickly than I can keep up and overlapping to the point that I doubt if they’re even hearing each other. Dumbledore begins to rise from his stool when the door separating this room from the next swings open and seventh year Severus Snape storms in, cheeks flushed and hair ruffled. Absurdly, my brain thinks he’s rather good looking before an older, uglier version of his future self storms in behind him and grabs the back of his shirt. Severus turns to fight back, dislodging the hand wrapped in his shirt and promptly receives a blow to the jaw that sends him to the floor. 

“Go on then,” Snape's father emphasizes his statement by kicking his son in the abdomen, hard. “You’re so smart and you don't need me, get the hell out then, and take your poofter ‘professor’ with you!” He looks at Dumbledore and stumbles slightly, even in memory the stench of alcohol is strong. Young Snape stands, gasping for air and flees through a rickety screen door which slams shut before bouncing back and staying open in his wake. Dumbledore approaches Snape's father, a look in his eye that I have never seen before.

“He’ll be coming to stay at Hogwarts. You will never see him again if I can help it. I’m sending him back for his things later this evening, I would suggest that you not be here. If you are, you will suffer a most horrible death.” Dumbledore turns to follow Snape.

“He won’t go with you. He’s a bleeding coward, he’ll never leave.”

“I’m not giving him a choice.” Dumbledore steps through the front door and I scamper after him, horrified and glad to be leaving the house. The sight that greets me is more painful to witness than any of that had been, though. Snape stands beneath a large oak at the end of a crumbling concrete walkway before his house, my mother is walking on the opposite side of the street in front of us with my father. Snape spits blood on the ground by his feet, his jaw already sports an impressive bruise. My mother see’s this, looks at him as if he were some manner of dung, turns up her nose and continues walking. The jolt of happiness I’d received at seeing them turns sour and I rather wish I didn’t have to witness what I sense is coming. I can’t help rushing forward from the rickety porch to Snape's side.

“I’m sorry, Lily, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry to you as well, James!” I see how it pains him to say this but it only attests to the fact that he must truly mean it. 

“Piss off, Snivellus.” My father says it. My mother bats his arm but giggles and they continue on their way. Suddenly there’s a knife in my stomach, it's hot and sharp and twisting it’s way through my abdomen. I can’t blame Snape for a single thing he ever said about my father. I look back at him and see hopelessness, pain and regret. I want to reach out to him, to offer him something solid to hold on to and reassure him, which I would find incredibly strange if it weren’t for the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. Dumbledore steps out of hiding, off of Snape’s porch, and begins his cautious approach.

“Severus, you’re coming with me. You’ll be staying at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore advances toward Snape with steady strides and says this in his most gently commanding tone. 

“I won’t.” Snape’s face takes on his usual indifferent sneer. His voice droll as I ever remember it being, he blinks his eyes clear. My heart aches as I realize why Dumbledore showed me this memory.

This day broke him. This was the day he turned his back on society and chose the course that brought all of us to where we are today. What might have been if my mother been forgiving? Where would we be if my father had been kind? How could so depend on one young mans actions? 

“Severus, you may have already taken the mark, you may already have avowed yourself, but I might still be able to help you if you’ll let me. Come and stay at Hogwarts, take on the Assistant Potions Professor position, do not continue down this path.”

Snape whirls on him and I imagine if he’d been wearing his robes instead of tattered, too small jeans and an oversized, stained dress shirt, they would have flourished neatly. “I don’t need your charity, I don’t want your pity, and I don’t intend to spend another second at Hogwarts.” 

Dumbledore advances and for the first time I can recall, looks rather menacing. “If you won’t come with me, then you leave me no choice.” Dumbledore draws his wand, I look back to Snape and see fresh hurt flicker on his face before a defiant smirk takes it’s place. 

He puts his hands on his hips and sneers, “What will you do, Dumbledore? Send me to Azkaban?” 

“I’ll do whatever you force me to do. So I implore you, let go of the past. Be reasonable. You’ve a bright future ahead of you if you’ll just make this one choice!” Dumbledore advances until he’s practically on top of Snape and therefore doesn’t see what I can, that Snape's wand was tucked into his jeans and is now in hand. 

“No one ever asked you to do anything, no one forced you to come here and I’m still not asking you for anything. I don’t need you, Dumbledore, I don’t need anyone or anything, and as far as I’m concerned, you and that poor excuse for a school can burn.” With a small pop he surprises Dumbledore and myself by apparating away. Dumbledore runs a hand down his face and the memory begins to swirl out of focus.

I gasp when I emerge from the pensieve. Remus, who is lighting a fire in the hearth, looks at me, opens his mouth as if to speak and sighs. There’s a pause in which we simply stare at one another. I’m surprised to note the feel of moisture on my cheeks. I brush it away and more comes. Remus steps forward hurriedly and places a hand on my shoulder. The other rifles through his worn jacket pocket and emerges with chocolate and a handkerchief. I smile ruefully and accept with a shaky sigh.

“Are you alright? Would you like to talk about it?” He sits beside me on the couch and I simply shake my head. I pick the pensieve up off the floor where it must have fallen when I went through and place it on the table. Remus' hand lingers between my shoulders and I allow myself the comfort of his presence. How could anyone just talk about a thing like that? How could my parents be so cruel? Everyone has always told me how kind my mother was. Lily Evans and kind were synonymous until this moment. What I saw in that memory, how could anyone see a friend in that state and keep walking? Or laugh at a cruel remark like that? All because he called her a name in a moment of shame and rage. 

And Remus was their friend.

Suddenly his presence is no longer comforting.

“I think… I’d like to just be alone.”

Remus seems confused and hurt by this but nods. He stands slowly and the air between us is tense once more. He looks down at me for a while longer before saying, “I’ll just… go and do some repairs.” Then strides silently out the front door.

I stare down at the small leather box, my heart feels as though it’s bleeding in my chest. I feel the need to apologize to Snape, tell him that everything he ever said about me was true, that I’m insolent and arrogant, that I’m every bit as bad as my father as he'd ever said. I had always just assumed, they were so popular and well liked, and Snape was so distrusted. Everyone loved my parents, how could they have been cruel? Why would anyone like someone who treated others that way? Snape did the things he’d done in response to the way they’d treated him, and they only treated him worse for it. And my mother had fallen in love with my father, and never forgiven Snape one angry outburst when she well knew she was his only friend and was aware of how James had treated him. She couldn’t forgive Snape, who needed her, who begged her, but fell in love with someone like my dad?

I’m so confused. And angry. But more than anything, I’m sad. 

I feel the air stir and hear a small crackling. There’s the thud of feet hitting the old wooden floors. Snape is here. It's the moment of truth, he will either kill me momentarily or I’ll have the answers that I need. If he kills me, I think, there is no one who deserves to more. The sole reminder of his one and only friends betrayal and her love of his constant tormenter, who he has been forced to risk his life protecting. I snap the pensieve shut and lock it, then look up to see his face, I suddenly need to see that sneer, or even his wrath written plainly there. If he intends to kill me I would gladly go, if only I could see that he is not still that hurt seventeen year old boy, that the wound I watched my mother and father inflict does not still bleed. When I meet his obsidian eyes, for a moment his face is open and worried. My heart twists once more, after everything he’s been through, all these years later even with Dumbledore dead, he concerns himself with the blight of his existence. I vow to myself that if it’s possible, this will be the last thing I ask of him. All of this occurs in a heartbeat, as his face closes off and his wand whips into my face. 

“What did you see in my office?”

What in the seven hells is he on about? Oh of course, nothing more than a precaution, one I probably should have taken several times today myself. Still, I am unsure what he might be asking. Something memorable, that only we would know…

Oh. The pensieve. He would ask that… how appropriate, considering.

I inhale unevenly and sniffle, then exhale just as shakily before saying, “How horrible my father truly was. Or could be.” Was, I think to myself. 

Concern masks his world weary expression once more and he eyes me suspiciously while walking over to kneel on the floor beside me. My brain goes totally blank when he puts a hand on my knee. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?” 

He called me Harry. He never calls me Harry. The only other time I can recall hearing him say my name with anything other than vitriol is in the pensieve. I suddenly have the urge to throw my arms around Snape's neck, to return some of the comfort I have found in his warm, elegant hand on my knee.  
“What am I doing here, how did you know to summon me?” His voice angry now, he withdraws his hand and I feel as though there may be some fear behind the anger.

“Why are you alone?” Concern again, and I can’t stand anymore of it, cannot take anymore from this man who has given so much.

I shake my head slowly, as if the motion might help to rattle loose and rid me of the guilt suddenly welling up inside of me. “Remus summoned you. He’s just outside.” When I meet his eyes again, I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time. Perhaps I am, now that all of my mistrust no longer lays between us and I understand, somewhat why he's layered himself in defenses and the cause of his hatred toward me and my father. I suddenly, desperately, need to prove that I’m not him, that I never could be anything like either of them. That I know now what they cost him and what all these years must have been like for him. That I want desperately to help him, to fix what they’ve done and to repay the debt I owe. Where to start?

“I know Dumbledore told you to kill him. I know you had to do it. I know why, and I’m so sorry.”

He looks at me as if I’ve grown several more heads. Then gives me a long, searching look and I try to portray with my eyes every ounce of earnestness and sincerity I hope my weak words contain for him. He is so very close, at slightly lower than eye level. It would be such a simple thing, to wrap arms around him and offer the comfort he was denied the day that Dumbledore pushed too hard. He is so close, he smells vaguely of nutmeg or something that reminds me of Christmas. There’s a warmth coming from him and for the first time I take him in fully. His shirt, stark white and meticulously neat, is unbuttoned just above the halfway point. His chest is muscular, something I would not have expected had it ever occurred to me to wonder. There are sparse, neatly curled hairs winding their way towards the light. My heart accelerates and I use every bit of my willpower to look back to his eyes. I swallow hard at how soft they seem in this moment and am astonished at how hard my heart is pounding. Certainly he can hear it? His eyes seem to bore into me and his lips part ever so slightly. My stomach does a cartwheel, then tries to leap out of my mouth when he springs to standing.

His expression and eyes suddenly snap shut like a book. “I don’t know what it is that has lead you to what you think you know, Mr. Potter, suffice it to say that I have done what is necessary in all things pertaining to the war and will continue to do so. What has Remus summoned me for?” 

I’m taken aback at the sudden change in atmosphere but stand even the playing field. “He summoned you for me.” I step toward him, suddenly bold and unsure why.

“So that you can make more unsupported claims?” His eyes widen marginally and when he tries to step back he bumps the tea table.

“Not at all unsupported.” He stops attempting to escape after I say this and quirks an eyebrow at me. 

“Dumbledore left me his pocket pensieve. He left me… memories. With it.” Oh no. He won’t be at all pleased about this. Having seen him in those moments of vulnerability, when everyone he’s ever known has taken such vulnerabilities and used them to harm him, no wonder he’s closed himself off from the world. I cannot blame him for what’s about to happen.

“What memories?” 

I don’t answer right away. Snape’s eyes shoot to the pensieve and I snatch it from the table. He whips out his wand and flourishes it. “Accio pensieve!” it shoots from my grip and I’m glad to have closed it as it occurs to me it will not open. I do not smile though as I see the sheer terror in his expression while he desperately tries to tug it open. 

“Snape.” He shoots a murderous glare in my direction. I begin again. “Professor. It only opens for me.” He looks at me desperately and I am taken aback once again by his open expression. Always back to anger though. 

“Open it, this instant!” he juts the pensieve out toward me. I take it back gently and he clenches his fists at his side.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Professor, I will if it’s what you truly want. But I’ve already seen them.” Well, almost the truth. What I imagine he would be most distressed at me having seen. There couldn’t possibly be anything worse... “It was the night that you told Dumbledore you’d made the unbreakable vow.” I won’t trouble him with the knowledge that I saw that other horrible afternoon.

“No.” He pales and stumbles out from between the couch and low table. He puts a hand over his mouth and begins pacing the length of the couch from behind it. He’s muttering very low, to himself. I watch for a while before stepping around the couch myself, then watch a while longer before speaking. 

“I won’t tell anyone. If that’s…” he whirls around and grabs me by the collar. 

Our faces inches apart, he rumbles at me, angrily, “That’s just the point you fool! You don’t have to say a word! Because of your own laziness your mind is an open book to the Dark Lord! He could be seeing this, what’s happening at this very moment, right now! Undoubtedly, he will know before the day is out what Dumbledore has shown you!” He releases me with a shove and I bounce off of the couch, scooting it slightly, before he takes up pacing again.  
“I don’t think that’s true.” I say it quiet and calm, so that he has to strain to hear me over the sound of his own rage and anxiety. When he turns on the ball of his foot I am slightly afraid but determined to never be frightened by him again. I carry on. “If it were true, he would have found me any number of times by now. I’d be dead if he were just able to access my mind. I think I may have found a way to keep him out.” 

“How?”

I am shy and nervous but after the morning of personal invasions I’ve mad on this man I decide to say it. That doesn’t keep the blush from my cheeks. “Well it's… in my sleep. That’s when he has the most access. When I’m having particularly bad nightmares and it feels like it might be him, trying to scare me or manipulate my dreams or feelings I… er… well things just stop. And I hear you, telling me to control my mind. I think it’s just that you taught me to do it but… it’s still there. And it’s every night. It just… makes everything stop.”

Snape looks horrified. His voice is a whisper when he asks, “What do you mean everything stops?”

My blush is almost painful, the look on his face makes me swallow hard, my heart pounds once more and my breathing is unsteady as if I’ve run miles. “Well everything… just goes dark. I don’t dream at all. I don’t really think I just… sleep. And it’s… good. I suppose. Right? I was afraid of it at first, when I wasn’t sure you were with us but… you are so… it is. Right? My scar doesn’t hurt and I haven’t… seen anything from Him during the day in… months. So.” Eloquent as ever Harry, you blathering idiot.

He nods but doesn’t say anything. He studies me intently again but we just stand there in silence. I catch my breath but my heart doesn’t slow and my blush feels permanent. Him studying me, me studying the floor. When my courage recovers enough to meet his eyes I am greeted with a sight I’m certain I will never forget.

Severus Snape blushing. 

He huffs exaggeratedly and rolls his eyes and I am certain he actually killed me when he pulled his wand earlier and this is some strange manner of afterlife that I’ve been cast into. One where Severus Snape comforts and blushes and rolls his eyes.

He looks back at me, hip cocked, arms folded across his chest and expression indulgent. “Why were you so upset when I arrived.”

My brain freezes. I can’t tell him that, he’d be furious if he knew that I saw. “I just… couldn’t believe Dumbledore would put you through that.”

He scoffs once more and shakes his head. “Our relationship was very different from yours. There was almost… well definitely nothing he would not ask me to do. I assume that is not the reason I am here? What is it that you need, Potter?” 

Potter, again, and not Harry. I never knew how plan my name was before I heard him say it. Why had he said it that way in the pensieve? Why isn’t he calling me Harry now? How can I get him to say it again? Why do I care? What’s come over me?

I put my face in my hands and leave it there for a moment. I inhale deeply and exhale sharply, then drop my hands. “You mentioned the horcruxes in the memory I saw. If you know anything about them, I need to know. We're not getting anywhere with them. It’s the blind leading the blind out here.”

He exhales a shaky breath I hadn’t known he was holding. Relief washes over his features before his customary smirk returns. I can’t understand what he’d been nervous about, I’m the one who’s just revealed an apparently horrifying personal secret. 

“Mr. Potter.” I come back to myself and meet glistening obsidian eyes. “When it comes to the Dark Lord's horcruxes to know anything you would have to be the…” he sneers disgustedly and says it disdainfully, “man… himself. However, something few ever pause to consider, quiet observation is quite useful in discovering things about people you otherwise would not ever know.” 

I smile at him hesitantly and, will wonders never cease, he smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Harry! Did everybody get their copy of The Cursed Child? Or did you lucky Brits get tickets??? Sorry for the short chapter I've been busy! Thought I'd get a chapter out before life gets hectic. Tell me what you think!


	5. Innocence Never Lasts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This officially marks the start of the angst and darker things. Turn back now if that isn't your thing! Pretty horrifying things with Ginny, skim through or don't read!

“I believe I know the whereabouts of one horcrux. It will be very nearly impossible to obtain but I may have a way around that. Bellatrix Lestrange has a vault at Gringotts. I know the Dark Lord himself entrusted her to place something within it. I was escorted by Bellatrix and several other cretins to place the Sword of Gryffindor there as well before I was fortunately able to replace it with a fake and spirit the real one away to you. Whatever’s in that vault, they’re leaving nothing to chance in terms of traffic. It serves to reason that it’s one of the only possessions that could ever truly be important him.” Snape ends his statement with a supercilious quirk of his lips and it’s my turn to gape.

“That was you? The doe was you? But how did you know!?” I feel the last ounce of mistrust and resentment slip away and take a moment to reconsider the man before me. His height seems misplaced in this bright, squat cabin. His hair is no longer greasy, I’m surprised to find, though his nose is the same as ever. Too large for the rest of his stately features. I adamantly ignore his open white shirt and the conflicting emotions it incites, though his tight black trousers are no less conflicting. His eyes gleam, as though they aren’t eyes at all but dark pools of rippling water, light and life glistening off of them. 

Suddenly it feels as though a spring has burst out of something it was stuffed into in my chest. A tingling warmth spreads through my torso and limbs, emanating from that point. It’s followed closely by fear. This feels a bit too much like something I’d rather not acknowledge, and so I won’t.

It simply. CAN’T. be. 

In the time that I’ve been admiring… no, examining him, Snape has begun to move again and he's talking. “Yes, I cast the patronous that lead you to the sword. I knew where to find you because I’m a spy, and it’s my job to know things. We don’t have time to get into these things though, Potter. If I am gone too long it will raise suspicions and I don’t think that, even to you, I need to spell out why that’s a bad thing.” I snort out laughter and Snape looks at me again as though I’ve grown spots. “Yes, well. I assume you’re staying here?”

“I will be now, yes.” 

He nods curtly and his apparently soft hair waves around his head. There’s a flutter in my stomach I’m not quite able to deny acknowledgment. “Right. I’ll be in touch. I may know of a way to retrieve the horcrux without your help. We should set a time to meet frequently enough that I may inform you of anything important. We will change when we meet upon each meeting so as to avoid routine. I think that perhaps next… Wednesday afternoon would be best for me. Any objections?” 

I shake my head and he eyes me once more. I blush under the scrutiny, my inability to control my reactions embarrasses me further and I blush more deeply. I look down and inspect my hands, folded before me, and try not to breathe erratically. I risk a glance at him as silence stretches between us and see him looking as awkward as I feel. He opens his mouth to say something, then snaps it closed.

“What?” Even I jump a little, surprised myself that I was able to speak in an even tone. He seems to want to run so I speak again before he can, “What were you going to say?” 

“Your dreams…” he seems embarrassed himself and examines his shirt sleeve and then nails before huffing and saying the rest exasperatedly, “It is highly uncommon that a persons mental shields manifest in the form of another person. Therefore, it is of interest to me particularly because you are shielding yourself with my incorporeal presence and I should like further explanation or detail on the matter.” 

I can’t help the grin that starts, or the all out smile that takes over at his haughty expression. It's as though, now I’ve had a peak behind the curtain, I can see beyond the show. He was embarrassed to want to know more, but couldn’t help his curiosity.

“What would you like to know? Where should I start?” Words like “sweet” and “endearing” drift across my mind at his shy look and the irritated way he continues to pick at his nails before the strange fluttering threatens in my stomach again. A nervousness seizes me and I struggle to rein in my emotions before I have to speak again. The air between us is thick with some unnamed thing and I have an inexplicable sense of urgency. He’s only asking me to explain my mental defenses, this isn’t a test, so why does this feel so important? 

“What do you know about defense manifestation?” Snape shifts his weight uncomfortably and seems to look anywhere besides directly at me.

“Er… well… nothing.” I rub my shirt where he had clutched me moments before, a brief memory of strong hands and long fingers skitters across my flesh and I wonder at the strangeness of this encounter and my reaction to it. All of this will definitely require further thought later when the company is not quite so distracting.

“Of course. Perish the thought that you might have accidentally obtained some knowledge whilst at school.” His voice contains annoyance that doesn’t reach his features, if anything he seems to be struggling more with whatever factor is troubling him.

“Why? Is it… am I… that I hear you… odd?” My voice breaks on the last word and I trail off awkwardly. Of course, my ignorance of the wizarding world has once again led to me inadvertently putting myself in an embarrassing position. Snape continues to look at anything except me, evidently his shoe is of great interest currently. 

“It isn’t odd exactly, rather circumstance of… well perhaps merely that you… or we… our relationsh- or association! Rather, the nature of our associations would perhaps be a better way to phrase… it…” he seems to realize that he's rambling and trails off. His mouth works silently before he snaps it shut. Our eyes meet for the first time in several moments and we blush in unison. Something new charges and sparks in the air and my breath catches. His thin, white shirt, still undone, does nothing to hide his own labored breathing. The spring that burst in my chest earlier gains a partner as something goes errant in my gut. My nerves sing and my brain goes fuzzy. As I note all these things in myself, Snape’s eyes widen minutely and he pales rapidly. The air clears and the room seems to cool by several degrees. I’m reluctant to lose the mood and his willingness to talk, I resolve to repair whatever has just broken between us. He turns away and I attempt speaking, unsure that I’ll be able to as my throat has closed with the sudden shift in atmosphere.

“To phrase…what? Exactly?” Not as confident as I would have hoped to sound but I’m glad to have been able to speak at all.

“Perhaps miss Granger will have a book on the subject, Potter, I have neither the time nor the desire to attempt to educate you on the subject. Considering the sorely underused state of your mind, it would undoubtedly be a lost cause as well as a considerable waste of my valuable time.” He becomes aware of the state of his clothing and glares daggers at me as he begins to busy himself with buttons. My brain is in a flurry of activity as I cast about desperately trying to find something to open him back up, to end this on a friendly note, as the closed look in his eye speaks finality.

“Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.” I summon my courage and take a deep breath. He doesn’t seem interested. “It’s about one of the memories Dumbledore left me.” He's finished buttoning his shirt but he leaves his hands where they are, poised above his collar bone. His face is blank but dangerously so, apprehension radiating off of him in waves. “I didn’t mention it earlier because I’m certain you wouldn’t have wanted me to see what I saw and you were already so upset. And we needed to talk but… I just wanted you to know that… my mother didn’t deserve you.” 

His expression goes a different kind of blank, pure shock. I decide to take advantage of his silence and press on, knowing this is a sensitive subject and dangerous ground. Best to get it out before he can yell at me.

“I was disgusted by what I saw in the pensieve during our lessons, and I was disgusted by the memory Dumbledore left me. My father acted like an animal and I could tell what I was seeing was nothing new. My mother had the best intentions when she came to your aid but she pushed too hard at a vulnerable moment and you snapped at her. Any real friend would understand. You apologized, you tried, you even apologized to someone who tormented you, for her. And she never forgave you, but she married the person that drove you to doing what you did. Dumbledore showed me what she did to you the day you turned your back on him. A real friend would have forgiven you, a real friend never would have been with the person that hurt their friend that way… a good person wouldn’t have been with someone like that at all. They weren’t good people. But you are. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that and I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you over the years. And I’m sorry for what my parents did to you.” Emotion threatens to choke my voice so I stop before I can make a fool of myself. But I don’t break eye contact. I want him to see the shame and the hurt there, I need him to know that I’m not my father or my mother. That I’m my own person and horrified by their actions. 

He's stunned a few moments longer and then heaves a heavy sigh. He shakes his head and looks at his feet. “I came to terms with all of that a long time ago. She pitied me. We weren’t honestly friends but she was still more kind to me than anyone had ever been. Your father was who he was. He was only ever true to his nature.”

“That's utter shit.” He looks up from his feet, humor in his eyes and I’m stunned by my outburst. “Everyone decides their actions, you don’t get to act like a prat and just claim it's your nature. He was horrible and my mother was horrible by association.”

“There’s no denying your father was a cruel and childish sod… when it came to me.” He looks extremely uncomfortable, I imagine I can hear his teeth grinding. “However, those who knew him best would waste no opportunity to tell you of his many redeeming qualities.” My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach.

“You don’t have to do that. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t. What he did… he knew better. There’s no excuse for his actions. Nor my mothers.” Snape looks a little pleased, and greatly surprised. My sorrow and guilt alleviate slightly. 

“Alright, I won’t try to excuse his behavior. Quite honestly, I don’t want to. Your mother, however, truly was marvelous. My choice of companions was very limited, those that accepted me were quite unpleasant and I’m certain that did nothing to encourage her forgiveness. She was very kind and truly good.”

“Until it mattered most. When her ‘friend’ was in trouble and alone and lost. Then where was she?”

Snape regards me in a new way. There’s something in his expression that I hesitate to call respect although I feel it may be. “She was only human. Your father was charming, wealthy, popular and handsome.”

“And she, so easily swayed.” 

Silence once more, but far easier than it has ever been. “You’re much changed since last I saw you.” He says it quietly, I nod. “I have to go.” He makes no move to.

“I’ll be here.” It implies more than I’m sure I mean. I once again wonder at the changes a single day can bring. Our eyes are locked, both questioning and hesitant. I find I’m holding my breath, though the realization does nothing to make me to breathe. 

The front door slams open and Remus announces his presence, “Brrr! It may be warmer here but it’s still bloody cold!”

We jump, whatever had been passing between us fizzles sadly as Remus rounds the corner.

“Oh! Hello, Severus! Harry, you should have retrieved me!”

“Yes, I could have made away with him many times over in the span of time you left him to himself, Remus.”

“Er… yes. I suppose I should have…” Remus shamefacedly toes the ground.

“Quite. I was just leaving, so sorry to have missed your company. However, I have agreed to further joyous visits. Perhaps you may impose your presence upon me then. Wednesday, Potter?”

A thought occurs to me. “Unless you have need to come sooner. This is a safe place.” 

He hides his surprise at the invitation by scowling at a brightly painted, ceramic basket of kittens and lilac book end sitting on a side table. He gives a curt nod of acknowledgement and with a swish of his wand and a small crackle, disapparates.

“My Gods, Harry, he was down right civil! I assume everything went well, then?”

I nod and turn away. I smile slightly at the pensieve. “I think he’s happy to be back.”

****

I apparate back to my still empty office and immediately set to putting my clothing back on. I can’t believe I’d been stupid enough to leave like that, practically half naked to an unknown destination and fate. Quickly, once I’m done dressing, I tap the knob on the upper left drawer of my desk. It transforms into a zero, the number of visitors my office had while I was away. I got lucky. I let myself get distracted and behaved foolishly. It couldn’t happen again, no matter what odd circumstances arose. 

And odd circumstances had most certainly arisen. 

Harry Potter, boy wonder, had become a man. A man who had sought out traitorous, Slytherin spy Severus Snape of his own accord. A man who had seen said traitor suffer and cried on his behalf, then sided with him against his own golden Gryffindor parents. I walk across my office to the window overlooking the lake. The sky is still overcast, a heavy blanket of snow falls on the lakes frozen surface. I stare out over the peaceful seen, trying hard not to think of the prison my home has become and consider the odd state of affairs I’ve found myself in.  
Strangest of all, before any of those odd occurrences, precious Harry Potter’s subconscious had determined it trusted, respected and associated safety with his greasy Potions Master. A person could subconsciously think and feel those sorts of things and come to realize it without it being all that interesting. No, that wasn’t very odd. What was odd about Harry Potter in terms of a change in his perspective and mentality was the development of his mental shields. Of course, he wouldn’t know it was odd, if Harry Potter ever simply knew something without it having to be spelled out for him I believe I would die of the shock of it. Dumbledore had all but spelled it out for him already and we had had many discussions on the subject. The power the Dark Lord knows not that the prophecy spoke of, love. Love would keep Harry Potter going, love would defend him against the hopelessness and the dark, love, the one thing the Dark Lord could not take from Harry Potter because he had a seemingly bottomless wealth of it to give freely to whomsoever he chose. Dumbledore had said it was his motivating factor, that it was behind his every action. He had said it would ultimately protect him for the Dark Lord in every way.

So why am I what his mind calls forward to protect itself from the Dark Lord?

The insinuation was obvious, the apparent conclusion, impossibly absurd. Dumbledore must have been wrong. But still… I can’t help but recall the other oddities of our encounter. 

He had looked heartbroken when I arrived. I was afraid momentarily that Dumbledore had changed his mind and told him what would come at the end. But no, the grief had stemmed from the quashed delusions he'd had for his parents, and evidently suffering for me… which was surprising in itself, even without this new… development. If there was a development. Dumbledore had to be wrong. Or it simply didn’t apply to this. No matter that Harry had blushed so brilliantly when I looked at him, or that I'd caught him eyeing my chest as if it were a piece of meat. No matter that he'd smiled and laughed, or that he'd been so determined to try to relate and extend the olive branch. He wasn’t even aware of what a mental defense such as that was typically associated with. It almost exclusively happened between lovers, when it happened, which was practically never. In fact, Harry’s the first person I’ve ever met whose mental defenses had taken on a personification. He'd said himself that he’d been afraid when it started. It was absurd to think that Harry Potter could ever even consider me in that light, especially considering his current relationship with the youngest Weasley. I cringe mentally for several reasons. For Merlin’s sake, the boy isn’t even gay, and here I am, worked up at the idea of him having a romantic interest in me. And unfortunately, I am worked up. I used to look at him and see his father. All arrogance and pride written on his strong jawline and well angled cheekbones. There isn’t a trace of James there now. His struggles and kind heart have lent his features a worldliness James' never knew. I used to look in his eyes and see Lily, but hers never contained such sympathy and sorrow, nor the light and strength or depth his contain. He is entirely his own creature. His own beautiful, tempting creature. When I’d been in that room with him and realized the attraction was there, it had been horrifying. Kneeling before him between that stupid cluttered table and shabby couch, unbearably close. I’d wanted to kiss him until the sadness left his eyes. I might have, too, if it hadn’t been for the smell. He had been positively filthy, unshaven, and still gorgeous. The terror I felt when I realized my attraction had been nothing compared to learning who Harry truly was as a person moments later. I hadn’t believed a word that Dumbledore said. All that rubbish about the purity of Harry's heart, the depths of his soul or his capacity to sympathize and… love. Even when it came to his own parents, Harry was appalled by their lack of compassion and how petty they were. Harry Potter truly is all love and light. Something else he seems completely and utterly unaware of. What a shame. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. 

Nothing good could ever survive in this world.

I turn my back on the window and resolve to drink this day into oblivion.

****

Remus apparates us back to the Burrow after placing some alarm wards around the cottage to alert us if anyone drops by. He does this at my suggestion in case Snape comes back. In spite of the fact that it would mean trouble, I hope he does. He was more interesting than I ever would have thought he could be, funny even, once you learned to look for it amidst the sarcasm and snide remarks. Now that I’ve seen him for who he is and not as a former Death Eater and git of a professor, I like him. I only hope he can forgive me my childishness and see me as more than James Potter’s son. Perhaps, in time. 

After I told Remus what I decided was absolutely necessary, we spent the rest of our journey back in silence. I’m still trying to process my knew outlook on my mother and the Marauders. Remus casts worried glances my way every so often and I take pity on him at the end of the path just before the door. I grip the pocket pensieve tight in one hand and grip his elbow with the other.

“Remus… I’m… sorry. About today. I just… I’m having a hard time dealing with the way my parents treated Snape. I can’t believe they were so heartless… or that you went along with it.”

Remus looks thoroughly ashamed and nods his understanding at me, “It's no excuse Harry, but we were children. We were stupid and careless. Not a single one of us were kind hearted like you, and I wish one of us would have been. I regret all of it dearly.” He looks down at his feet and my heart softens. 

“It’s alright, I just… I don’t understand how someone could do those things.” Remus nods again and smiles at me grimly. 

“I’m glad you don’t.” He looks at me seriously and then breathes deeply. “Harry, I realized something today. Something I don’t think Sirius ever realized. You’re not James. And despite what I told you your third year, you’re nothing like your mother either. You’re so much better, so much more than any of us ever were or ever could be. They'd be so proud of you. I know I am.” He pats me on the shoulder and smiles sadly again. 

“Thanks.” I give him a genuine smile and nod in the direction of the door. “Let's get in there, I’m freezing.”

“We’re good then?” He looks at me hopefully and I smile at him in what I hope is a reassuring way.

“Always.”

He smiles back gratefully and we're walking back through the door that leads to the dining room/kitchen area. I hear raucous laughter and Tonks' voice.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know how the muggles do it! I bend over and it feels like my guts are gonna come flyin’ out my mouth! Honestly, Molly, six children! You’re a warrior!” 

“Oohh, no! The first is the hardest. After that you know what to expect. And when you see that angel, you won’t remember a thing about the struggles of pregnancy.” 

“I doubt I’ll ever forget being elbowed in the stomach from the inside.”

Everyone laughs again, then Mrs. Weasley catches sight of me. “Good heavens, Harry! Remus! You're back! Harry you look positively exhausted!” I suddenly realize I am terribly tired. “Right upstairs to the shower for you!” 

“Sounds heavenly. Ron, Hermione, you want to talk after?”

“Of course!” Ron seems in better spirits and Hermione looks tired but happy. I smile at the both of them and dash upstairs. I am happier than I have been in some time. We're finally going to start making some headway with the horcruxes, a wrong was righted, and Severus Snape has been proven innocent.

Well, as innocent as Snape can be proven, considering his position. I glance a clock on the wall in the hallway. Four in the afternoon. Not such a bad use of time. I round the third floor hall, headed for the bathroom, and nearly run into Ginny.

Oh, bugger.

“Oh! Sorry, Harry!” She looks at me, and I see a change in her. There's less light in her eyes. Less joy in her smile. She seems nervous for the first time I can ever recall.

“Gin. Are you alright?” She looks surprised and begins to fidget with her fingers. She bites her lip and looks at the wall beside us. “What is it?”

When she looks back at me, she looks angry. “Ron told me who you were with. What you were doing today. Harry, you don’t know what’s going on at that school…” 

I cut her off. I’m already tired of having this conversation. I’m tired in general. “He was doing what Dumbledore told him. He's still doing what Dumbledore told him. He isn’t any happier about it than you are. Have you seen him? He's miserable. He hates having to let it go on…” 

She cuts me off. “Yeah, and that’s all he does! Let it go on while he sits in his office, drinking tea and filing papers on who got raped and who's been bled!” 

“What would you have him do exactly? Conquer the Dark Lord? That's my job, in case you’ve forgotten! That’s what ends this, there’s no Board of Governors for him to write, no Ministry officials to step in, that’s all gone! You want someone to blame for the state of the world and the school, you’re looking at him. And the only person that can help me, the person taking all of the blame, including yours currently, is Snape. Care to continue?” I’m breathing heavily by the time I’m done and she looks furious. 

“I think we should break up.” It's said out of anger, I don’t think she means it, but I want her to, so I push it.

“Do you?” 

She hesitates, but I see honesty in her eyes. “I do.”

I nod. “I do too.” 

She starts to cry and I pull her into a hug against her will. She resists at first and then melts. “Why?”

The truth demands to be told. I don’t want to, but she deserves it, and I know I can trust her. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know for sure.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Ginny… I… I think I’m gay.” She stiffens against me and then starts laughing. I go stock still, expecting the worst.

“Oh, Harry! That's the most wonderful thing you possibly could have said.”

She pulls away from me and I wait for her to explain. “I mean… I thought you were too… off. You barely seemed to want to touch me… I thought you were just playing some game with me, like Dean. But… you just don’t like me! It’s wonderful. I was so worried. I thought Ron was going to kill you. And then you didn’t even try to see me before you left today even though…”she trails off and then looks at me, frightened, before her expression goes carefully blank and she picks at the skin on her arm. 

“Even though what?” She won’t look at me. “Ginny?”

“You really don’t know? No one’s told you?”

“I’ve been gone all day.”

“It was months ago. I knew you couldn’t get to me, inside Hogwarts and everything and I never blamed you or anything of course…but…”

“What happened?” 

She looks at me and a strange emptiness takes hold of her features. “They thought I would know something. Rumor got around fast that we were together… and I’m Ron’s sister, so they thought I’d know. The Carrows… particularly Alecto… she likes her knives. She took me to the dungeons and she chained me to the wall… and she touched me while she did it… Harry I was so glad I didn’t glad I didn’t know where you were! She told me… she said she was going to get Amycus. That he knew what to do with a blood traitor like me… Snape came in, and he saw and he acted like he was looking at an edition of The Daily Profit. He said I was late for class and had her release me, then sent me on my way Harry! Like nothing was happening!” We are both in tears, both of them angry. “How can you defend him?” 

“Because it's not his doing Ginny. And he can’t stop it. If he tries he’s dead.” I hope I’m right.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” I do too.

“Show me.” 

She shakes her head.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Gin… I need to know what they did to you.”

“You can know without seeing.”

“Are you… embarrassed? Hermione says there are potions for scars…”

“No… I just…” she looks at me warily.

“What is it?”

She sighs. “You deserve to know,” she turns around and says, “it’s stupid. They're horrible. Don’t take it seriously.” She snaps her bra and pulls her shirt up to show me her back. My breath is stolen from me. All thought stops. I can’t be certain she’s talking to me over the ringing in my ears.

The scars are hideous and puffy, but it’s plain to see. Starting at her lower back working toward her neck, carved horizontally, are a capital H and P. Cutting across the letters and down the middle of them is a lightening bolt.

I clap and hand over my mouth and at the sound Ginny spins on her heel and clasps her bra back. She pulls her shirt down and says, “Harry, don’t…” but it's too late. I turn and run. I run down the steps, taking as many at a time as I can. When I reach the bottom of the stairs between the living room and the kitchen, I hear everyone, still seated at the table laughing. I turn right and flee through the front door. As I exit I hear Ginny call my name but I don’t wait to see if there’s any reaction. I sprint to the end of the wards and apparate away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of God, someone BETA ME.


	6. Hideaway

I land, dropping the pensieve, and fall to my knees just beyond the wards of Remus's cottage. From here, the cottage is not visible to passersby, but being keyed to the wards I could see it plainly. That is, I could see it if I could see anything through my tears and the image I am fairly certain is burned into my retinas. There was a mole, I know, on Ginny's left shoulder. It was small, auburn in color, a color that matched her fair complexion and brilliant, flame red, trademark Weasley hair. It had been there four long months ago. I’d seen it at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. And it wasn’t there now. In this moment, where a small mole had been on Ginny Weasley’s left shoulder, was a jagged puffy scar. Part of a capital P, symbolic for Potter. A clear message to me from Alecto Carrow. Anyone who knows you, if they’re your friends, your family, anyone you care for, we’re coming for them and you. No one was safe. Nowhere was safe. Nothing was beyond the violence of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Not even the mole on Ginny Weasley’s left shoulder. I swallow something cold and slimy and it lurches right back up. I vomit violently into the crisp leaves inches before my face. I dig my nails into the icy soil and retch several times, barely noting the crackle of someone apparating somewhere to the right of me. 

“Harry?!” A beat. “Harry, are you here?!” 

I haven't crossed the wards yet, I haven't set off the alarms. I debate whether I want to be discovered and take slow, shaky breaths, careful not to make much noise. 

‘No one's told you? … It was months ago.’

… Everyone knew. Of course, they knew. Remus had known, and he hadn’t said anything. Had they sat around that very same kitchen table we’d sat at this morning, deciding what I needed to know in regards to things that were happening because of me? Had they talked about poor Ginny like she was an accidentally broken object of mine, “Sure, it happened, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him?” 

They’d left her in school afterwards. They let her sit in that monsters class, let her walk through the halls, worried that they’d pull her back down to the dungeons at any moment. 

She hadn’t gone to Madam Pomfrey. If she had, she wouldn’t have the scars. Had she been embarrassed? Was she not allowed to go?

Was she afraid they’d just do it again if they found out?

I lift my hands from the ground and shift to kneeling. I hastily stuff the pensieve under my sweater and tuck it into the waistband of my jeans, then clench my fists and shudder violently, but not from the cold. Anger, thankfully, is replacing my horror. 

I hear something solid hit the ground at roughly the same distance I heard Remus call out from. I only wonder at it for a moment before I hear the last voice I want to hear and the only voice I need to. 

“Lupin, that ridiculous creation is not to be used lightly. Whatever –“

“Snape, Harry is gone! Harry’s gone! He just left, and he's not here, Ginny showed him, we hadn’t told him, but she showed him and he just left, we set al-“ 

A sharp clap and I hear the thud of something hitting the ground again. There’s a rustling and then I hear Snape once more.

“You fools! You complete and utter imbeciles! Is there nothing you can do competently?! You let him fucking go?! You’re certain he isn’t here?”

“We set ward alarms, they haven’t gone off. If he’s here he’s not in there and why else would he be here? Severus, what’ll we do? Oh, Gods, I-“

“Get ahold of yourself! Where would he go?”

“I don’t know! There’s no where!”

Remus sounds on the verge of hysteria and I decide I need to drag myself out of hiding before this can get any worse. 

“Remus, Dumbledore as my witness, if anything happens to him I’ll murder you in the most unpleasant way I can think of.” His voice is low, barely audible from my location except that he enunciates every syllable and speaks so slowly. It’s a deep and rumbling sound and for some reason reminds me of whiskey and smoke. 

“Severus… if anything happens to him, I’ll let you.” 

I’ve been slowly creeping toward their voices and now I can see them. The afternoon sun lends the scene before me a strange quality, none of this seems real. It seems as though I’m seeing this through someone else’s eyes. Remus, guilt ridden and distressed, Snape, rumpled and shaken. Over me. Always because of me, because of something I did or didn’t do, or because of something that’s been done to me. My crushing guilt chooses that moment to try to surge back to life, but anger wins out once more.

“You both knew.” 

Snape whirls around neatly and relief is plain in his features before annoyance possesses them. Remus begins to run forward, but I take a step back. They’re in the mostly overgrown path that leads to the cottage and I am not yet fully clear of the trees.

“You weren’t going to tell me. I was staying in their house, eating their food, under the same roof as her, and no one was going to tell me.” 

“Harry no one blames you of course!” Remus' pleading tone only makes me more angry. The right side of his jaw is swollen. Did Snape hit him? He deserved it.

“No, of course not! No one ever blames me but then whose fault is it? You Know Who didn’t do it, just his Death Eaters, but they’re only doing as they’re told, same as you!” I point to Snape who doesn’t move in the least but something in his expression changes. “But everyone has a choice don’t they? Like keeping obvious targets away from a school run by Death Eaters! Or bloody well telling someone when a person they love's been tortured because of them!”

“Harry-“

“Oh, shut it! We all damn well know it's because of me! Can’t any of you be fucking honest for a change? Even with yourselves?!” Remus appears heartbroken and as usual Snape is impossible to read, though his eyes glisten with something.

I take a moment to compose myself. “What are we going to do. I’m not waiting another minute, I’m sick of waiting. We have to do something. Now.” 

“What would you propose?” Snape drawls at me, as if I haven’t just shouted myself hoarse.

“Take back the school.” 

“The moment He has you in the open like that He’ll come for you.”

“Then the horcrux you know about.”

“It will be difficult to retrieve. It will take me some time-“

“You’re not doing shit. I’ve had more than enough of people I care about endangering themselves on my behalf.”

Snape is only stunned by my outburst momentarily before a sneer replaces his surprise. “Charming as your emotional display is, I feel the need to remind you that we’ve been at this since long before you were born. We’ll not sit idly by while you charge into a fray that effects all of us.” 

“Then you’re taking me with you.”

“Oh yes, how very brilliant of you, drag you about hoping you don’t get killed along the way. As much as the idea of pointless baggage entices me Mr. Potter, babysitting does not s-“

Rage flares through my veins hotly and a boulder behind them cracks loudly, then explodes, raining pebbles on us, effectively silencing Snape. They both turn to look at where the boulder had been. “So I’m a child now, is that it? I’m fated to kill the Dark Lord and I’m thrust into the world to hunt horcruxes but it's still for others to decide what I know about myself and the people around me, and I’m a child who can’t do the job he’s destined to do?” I am barely holding onto my temper and Snape looks apprehensive but appropriately taken aback by all of this. Remus is stunned, he looks between me and the crater I’ve left behind them several times.

He decides on attempting to calm me, “Harry. You’re right. We didn’t want to hurt you when you were already facing so much. We should have told you. But please, let's go back to the Burrow, talk this over-“

“No. I’m not going back.”

Snape folds his arms across his chest and draws himself up to his full height. Remus attempts to continue in a more demanding tone, “Harry, Ron and Hermione-“

“Tell them whatever you want, I’m not going back and they’re not coming with me.” 

“They don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah? Well, Ginny didn’t deserve what she got either. No one deserves what happens to them when they get involved with me.” 

“This is much larger than that. You’re over simplifying things. This war is not just yours, it involves all of us.” Remus' best attempt at scolding.

“A lot easier to stay alive when you’re not involved with the Dark Lord’s target.” 

“You leaving doesn’t make us any less involved!” 

“Well at least then you won’t have me to worry about! No one can see me coming and going from the Burrow, no one will catch Ron and Hermione with me, it's no one else’s responsibility to kill him, no one else should be risking their lives for me, because I’m not ready or too fragile or a child! I’m not a child, I’m no one's bloody ward and I’m done sitting around, waiting for someone else to decide when I’m ready!” 

“Very well, Mr. Potter. As you wish. Give me the next few days to prepare and we’ll set about retrieving what lies in Bellatrix's vault.” Snape removes his wand as if he intends to leave and I brandish mine, leveling it on him. 

“No you don’t. We need to talk. Remus, go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you’ve got a long conversation of your own waiting for you at the Burrow.”

“What?”

“They’re going to want to know what’s happened. You’re the one that’s going back, who else?”

Remus stares at me. Confusion and anger closing off his typically kind and open face. I expect more argument, but he disapparates. Snape does not move, not even to put his wand away, though I lower mine. 

“I’m not staying here either.”

“I suspected as much.”

We regard each other for some time before he relaxes a minuscule amount. Then huffs. “I suppose that was your idea of requesting safe harbor?”

“You owe me.”

His expression turns dangerous. “What, pray tell, brought you to that seriously flawed conclusion?”

“You saw what happened to her. You knew, and you kept her in that place with those people. You could have removed her from school.”

Snape sighs exaggeratedly and runs a hand through his hair. “It is much more complicated than that. If that's how you still think of me, however, then I do not know what it is I’m doing still standing here, nor why you would continue to associate with me.”

“Because I know you have a reason and I want an explanation. And that’s not the only reason you owe me. You’re going to help me because without me, the Order would still be after you and you’re going to need all the friends you can get after I kill that slimy bastard. But, no matter your reason or explanation, you owe me for Ginny. Not because it happened and not because you kept her there. But because it's a hell of a thing to look someone you love in the face and take the blame for something like that, and then to bring them to trust and forgive the only person that could have helped and didn’t.” I pause to let what I’ve said sink in. He says nothing and I know the guilt is there keeping him quiet. “Even though I know you wanted to do something when it happened and I know you couldn’t. I don’t blame you.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself either.”

“How can I not? It’s plain enough they did it because of me.”

“Yes, because of you but that doesn’t make it your fault. The why behind their actions is not you. I think you know that.”

We say nothing else for a while. The sun sinks lower behind the trees and I feel an odd sense of home, looking at his black figure in the overgrown path to the cottage. He seems as transfixed as I am and the wind swirls around us. He breaks the silence, sounding oddly out of breath. 

“Your friends… they won’t like this. They’ll come… I imagine they’re trying to persuade Remus to bring them here now. If you truly mean to do this… we should go. Now.”

I nod and walk away from the tree line towards him. It's only a few steps, but it feels like climbing a mountain. When I reach him, I stare at his feet and take several breaths, I feel something monumental shift between us and in myself. I’m about to put all of my trust in him, I’m trusting him with my life, with the life of the savior of the wizarding world, someone I thought so unworthy of Dumbledore's confidence for six years of my life. It feels as if I retched that Harry Potter up and left him on the forest floor. This is perhaps the first dividing moment of my life that wasn’t brought about in a flash of green light. I look up to his face and see him staring, unseeingly, at my chest. His mouth is slightly open, bringing back a memory of a warm fire and his open shirt. Evidently, the moment is not lost on him either. The odd electricity that surrounded us in the cabin charges once more. I don’t know what to say, and I’m not certain my voice would work if I did, so I act instead. I place my right hand on top of his left forearm, flat palmed and fingers spread. The sleeve of his robe is stiff and coarse, but comforting. I can’t help applying a small amount of pressure, I don’t know where this courage has come from but I know that the warmth coming off of him is more comforting than the sight of the Weasley’s kitchen had been this morning. His eyes meet mine and he exhales shakily before taking my forearm from below. I shift my hand accordingly and hold just below the bend of his arm, his hand near my elbow. My heart skips a beat when long elegant fingers grip back with similar pressure. He tilts his head slightly, and though I am disappointed to lose the comfort of the moment I tilt mine back. We disapparate from the cottage and whatever lay in store for Harry Potter before Severus Snape. 

I feel compressed from every side and my breath seizes in my chest. It only lasts for a moment, as it always does. We land on a hill in incredibly quiet, heavily snowed on woods. I absorb the still and quiet and take in my surroundings. 

“I hope you were not particularly eager to escape the wilderness.”

I shake my head and smirk grimly. “Deep woods living seems to be all the rage currently at any rate.” 

He says nothing and I look up and meet his eyes. His face reveals nothing but his eyes are alight with curiosity. They flicker and change when he sees me noticing but I’m too distracted to note the emotion behind them. I’ve just noticed our hands still grip each others forearms. We are less than a foot from each other, eyes locked, in secluded, snowy wilderness. His eyes flick over my face and mine flicker down to his lips involuntarily. I think he notices, as incredulousness twists his features into confusion. I turn crimson and yank my hand away. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind and I take to examining his feet. Deafening silence demands my attention through the blood I hear rushing in my ears. I feel as though my heart is holding it's breath. 

“You must be freezing.” I snap my head up and meet his eyes once more. They're still questioning but he looks as nervous as I feel. “We should hurry and get you inside. I need to return to Hogwarts as quickly as possible.” 

I nod and look around for a path I couldn’t possibly see through the snow. “Is it through the woods, or…?”

“We're standing on it.”

It’s my turn to look at him incredulously but he’s begun moving and takes no notice. He walks down the hill and when he reaches the bottom turns to face it and gives an impatient wave of his hand in gesture for me to hurry and do the same. When I am standing beside him he takes out his wand and taps out a pattern. The steep ground seems to writhe over itself. At first it’s a small circle, but it grows larger as I watch. It stops when it’s approximately 5 feet in diameter. Snape flicks his wand and a door springs open vertically in front of us swinging out to our left. He looks to me and gestures again, this time for me to enter; I’m too focused on the fact that the nearly ankle deep snow didn’t go flying when the door opened. 

He snaps, “It’s magic Harry, as usual. Now, please do enter before my absence becomes impossible to explain.”

Feeling very much the chastised student I scurry up to the door and step up to the opening. I can see the landing of a staircase leading downward, but it leads into darkness. I cast lumos and a weak light shines from my wand into the room before me. I hear him approaching me from behind and take a few of the steps before I stop to examine my surroundings once more. 

If I didn’t know better, I would this was the inside of a ship. Practically every inch of the place is wood, the only exception being a large, gray, stone fireplace to my left. The walls are curved, the wood looks to be teak, though I’m no expert. It's highly polished, what weak light this wand is putting out reflects marvelously off of it. Beams and rafters of the same wood cross overhead, and a single tier, plain metal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. Directly before me is the smallest kitchen I have ever seen. A half stove, an ancient half sized fridge, and two counters, a sink in one. There is a round table and three chairs between the kitchenette and a shabby wooden futon that sits before the fireplace to my left. To the left of that are two doors. I assume a bedroom and bathroom. Snape descends behind me and sighs when he stills. 

Light suddenly springs from the chandelier and fireplace. The chairs adjust up flush against the table, tea conjures up out of nowhere and pours into a single cup that follows. I hear something tinker in the fridge and the far door to the bedroom opens. Several blankets land on the shabby couch followed by towels. 

“Eat. Rest. I sincerely hope you can find it in your heart to bathe before I return. Make yourself at home.” 

He steps forward and poises his fingers in pincher motion at my chest level. ”Here.”

I extended my hand, palm out. He drops a single, nondescript button into it.

“I expect you know how to use this?” 

I stare at it, dumbstruck. I barely manage to nod. He folds his arms across his chest.

“Emergencies only.” He begins to leave and a shot of panic stabs through me.

I nod again, and then find my voice, “You took it from Remus.” He stamps his left foot out but stops, back still turned to me. “… Did you hit him?” He says nothing, nor makes any further movement. “You did. Why?”

“Well he’d lost The Chosen One. One can hardly be blamed for their actions at such a time as that.” He turns and sneers at me. I smirk.

“Thank you for caring.”

His scowl deepens and he grunts noncommittally. 

“And thank you for this place.”

“It isn’t mine. You needn’t thank me for it. It was Dumbledore's. He intended it to be a hideout for someone eventually, who better than Gryffindor's prize student?”

“Thank you anyway. I know what you’re risking by even being here. You don’t have to help me and I wouldn’t blame you if you chose not to.” 

“Someone has to help you, Potter. You can’t do this on your own. You made the right choice today. Friends or no, you need someone a little more accustomed to staying alive by you’re your side. I will do what I can.”

“… Thank you.”

I stare at my feet for what feels like an eternity. 

“It was… incredibly unfortunate and… extremely… upsetting. What happened to Ms. Weasley. And I was deeply unhappy to not have been able to do more.”

I hear the apology in his words, and though the word ‘sorry’ might have done more to appease my anger, I am still moved by his effort.

“Why did you not take her to Madam Pomfrey?” 

“She chose not to go. I sent Cho Chang for her through Professor Flitwick. She said she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.” 

I’m horrified but the words stir a memory from my sixth year. I look at the reminder to never lie on my hand, then nod my understanding.

“It makes sense. Stubborn as you both are, I shudder to think what your children will be like.”

My head snaps up and I realize what he means. “Oh. Oh, no. We’re not… together. Anymore. We broke up.” 

He looks vaguely surprised. I am as well. Why am I telling him this? “How interesting,” he deadpans, “I shall write…” a look comes over him. “Is that why you said I owed you? She doesn’t blame you for what happened does she?” 

“Oh, no! Well, she says she doesn’t. Though honestly, that’s rubbish. But no, it was mutual. I’m not very available right now and…” 

And, what? And I’ve been obsessing over you for a month? And I think your fingers are elegant, find you funny, think you’re charming when you’re nervous and can’t get the image of your chest out of my brain? My eyes dart to his chest and back up. I hope he doesn’t notice.

“… She's not my type.” Innocent enough.

He looks at me blankly for a long time. I blush furiously. He must have seen me looking. I’m an idiot.

“Hm. Well. Nothing for that.” He mumbles it quickly.

There’s another moments silence in which my heart pounds furiously before he turns and sets back up the stairs. “I’ve one thing to show you before I go.” We climb the few steps quickly. He turns and says, “No one will come here without me, so there’s no need for you to let anyone in. However, it occurs to me that you are young and probably do not particularly enjoy being trapped below ground. As such, should you care to leave and reenter, you need only follow this pattern with your wand.” He points to the door above us with his wand and which reveals a triangle with odd points, a dove at the top, a crow to the right and a vulture to the left. “Dove, crow, vulture, crow, dove, crow. Simple. No one can enter without knowing the key. And you have to know the precise location of the door to use the key and the door has been spelled to look like earth, as you saw, so no one can find you. You’ll be safe.” It’s part command part statement, I nod again, still much too embarrassed to speak. “I will return.”

“When?” 

It's little more than a whisper but he hears me in spite of the door creaking open. He gives me an odd, searching look and attempts to sneer. It's little more than a quiver of his lip, and fades away defeated by some conflicting emotion or thought. “When would you like?”

It’s an odd question, I think he’s leaving this to me for one of two reasons. Either he has no desire to return or he thinks I don't want him to. “Whenever you want. We have a lot to talk about. Sooner the better. If you wanted to… or can… tonight? Maybe?” 

He nods quickly. I feel I've made the right decision. 

“Tonight, then. It will be late. Try to eat something and sleep. Limit your outdoor excursions… I will be back as soon as I am able. If you need me though, use the button. I do not think there is any danger near here, Albus was careful. But if you have need of me-“

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” I want to smirk but I hold it back. Though it is incredibly interesting to see him so concerned with me.

He swallows hard and nods. 

“Thank you, again.” I murmur.

He does not look at me, focused once more on my chest, and time stands still. This moment feels meaningful, but I don’t know why, or what's expected of us, but my entire being tingles with apprehension and I feel if I don’t do or say something I’ll regret it. 

“You’re an incredible person. Our side is seriously fortunate. I only wish more people knew.” 

He meets my eyes and his entire expression softens. “It’s enough that you feel that way.” His eyes widen, he's as surprised as I am at his words. His high cheekbones color and he looks as though he’d like to obliviate me. I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“That means a lot, coming from you.”

We both hold our breath, searching each others eyes for the meaning behind the others words, a meaning I’m beginning to accept and understand within myself, though I can’t be certain of his intentions and am still moderately flabbergasted by my own. 

“I should go. I’ll be back.”

“Be safe.”

He nods slightly and turns to leave. He steps over the threshold and takes a few steps, then turns and as he’s closing the door meets my eyes again. 

“You too.”

Then the door is closed and I’m left with the flickering firelight from below as my only company. For the first time since leaving the Dursley's I am truly alone. Though I think perhaps for the first time since the end of my sixth year, Snape is not. I smile at that, knowing that no matter what he is in a much worse position than me. Ginny's back flashes into my mind and I drive it away with the image of Snape standing tall and proud in that overgrown path in the afternoon sun. I descend the steps feeling lighter than I did upon my arrival. The guilt is still there, but knowing I’ve finally made a progressive move helps some. I sit at the kitchen table which reminds me of the pensieve as it jams itself into my ribs. I set it in front of me and consider it at length while sipping the tea Snape summoned for me. 

I really am quite tired. And I reek. But I can’t afford to lose any more time. I should see the last memory before Snape comes back. I down the tea and take a deep breath. I open the pensieve and select the third vial, I roll it between my fingers and watch the memory within it swirl. I imagine Dumbledore sitting at his deciding what would be best to share with me after his death. I wonder at his motivations and the secrets he took with him. I do not envy him. Who had he had? Who did he turn to to relieve the pressures of being him and alleviate the loneliness? Had he been lonely? Did he know how I felt about him?

I give heavy hearted sigh and unstopper the vial. I poor it into the shimmering pool and watch it unfurl before I stick my wand inside. 

Then, I'm falling again. When I land I find myself standing beside Dumbledore in his office. He is young again, about the age he was when I saw him in the last memory. More surprising though is who he's with. An impossibly young looking Remus sits across desk before Dumbledore. 

“Snape has promised me he will not tell anyone what he knows.” Dumbledore sounds as though he is trying to persuade the frightened looking younger Remus.

“You can’t honestly believe him?!”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t. He loves Lily Evans and he's jealous of James. He’d so anything to turn the school against us!”

“I believe he knows that he has lost the battle for Lily's affections. He seemed quite defeated when he was here before. I would think that you would have a little more compassion, considering who she's chosen to give them to.”

Remus blushes but this is very hard for me to follow. My heart hit my toes when Remus had said Snape loved my mother, and while I was still processing why that had been so hard to swallow, Dumbledore had insinuated… what? That Remus had feelings for my father? 

Unexpectedly, the memory shifts into something else. Suddenly I’m in Professor Trelawney’s office with Dumbledore. She sits at her desk, palms to the wood. She breaths and speaks in a rattling way with which I’m familiar, and Dumbledore is leaning over her looking at her intently.

“When darkness threatens all and evil grows… where hope and light have faltered and the end draws close… when courage begins to falter and fear infects their hearts… a man of two who have never known that which holds the key to life but know well the taste of it unrequited thrice… he will know at last a pure hearts glow… before he too leaves him with nothing to show but that which is the power to vanquish the Dark Lord… but one cannot wield that which they do not understand. Darkness and light will come together to serve harmony though the cost is high and it painfully ends…”

I am ejected from the pensieve unceremoniously and left feeling very confused. Who had Trelawney been talking about. A man of two? Was that just two men? A man of two what? They key to life? If that was the same as the power to vanquish the Dark Lord then it was love. I’ve known love, so this couldn’t have been about me, because it made it sound as if it was about someone who had never known it. I shake my head and consider the option of showing this to Snape. I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Which it had, oddly, when Dumbledore had said Snape loved my mother. I shake the thought from my head, stand, stretch and catch a strong whiff of myself. I gag slightly and make my way to the open door to the bedroom.

It's round and almost exclusively wooden like the rest of the place. An identical chandelier to the one in the living area hangs in the center of this rooms ceiling as well. A four poster queen sized bed sits on the far side, a fluffy look silver gray blanket and four pristine pillows beckon me. I turn my head and see a wardrobe stands on the wall between the living area and this room. I go to it and open and before my eyes clothing in my size materialize. A plain white shirt, blue jeans, a black sweater, black socks and boxers, and plain black trainers exactly like the ones I’m wearing. I smile take them and exit back to the living room for the towels he put there then make my way to the bathroom.

This room is wooden as well. There’s a large, deep marble tub along the wall to my right that separates the bedroom. At the end is a shower that looks almost spaceship like because of the curved wall to the left, the glass door and sleek, chrome metal finishes. Before it and the tub are thick gray bath mats. The toilet and vanity sink are behind the door to the left of me. I note the door between the tub and shower that must lead into the bedroom. I’m suddenly exhausted beyond words and drop everything on the floor to strip quickly, eager to get under the hot spray of a shower. I fairly jog to said shower, swing the door open and leap inside. I crank up the heat stand beneath the jet, absorbing the heat and letting the grime of my past few months run off of me in streams. I exhale deeply and begin to move. When I turn and see a previously empty wall inset and filled with various soaps and shampoos I wonder again at the miracles of magic. I wash with something that smells like sandalwood and wonder what possessed Dumbledore to fill this place with so much wood. I consider the memory as I wash first my body, then my hair, rinse extensively and start again. Hot water never felt so good, and my mind never felt so full. The more sense I try to make of Trelawney's prophecy the more tired I become. When I rinse my hair a second time I become distracted by my beard. I’m not overly fond of having a beard. Mine is still short, but I feel as if I am smothering under some small, coarse creature. Or in Snape’s robes. They’d felt thick and heavy and coarse, like a beard. What an odd thing to compare clothing to. And what an odd time to be thinking of Snape, in the shower. Not that I’m thinking of Snape in the shower, I’m in the shower, thinking of Snape. I can’t even contemplate how livid Snape would be if he thought that anyone would think of something like that, him, in the shower. I chuckle and snort and proceed to consider it out of spite. He's so tall he would probably have trouble getting under the spray. I doubt he would even be able to properly rinse. He probably has to stand back and lean forward to get under the shower head. I imagine he has some trouble with the suds running from his hair into his face, down onto his lean muscled chest only to get caught in the hairs there… 

I shake my head and turn the water off quickly. I wasn’t just thinking of that. And I definitely did not have any sort of reaction to… what I was not thinking of. I swing the glass door of the shower outward and step onto the cushy shower mat. I slip on the boxers I dropped in the middle of the room and scratch my stubble. I decide to shave, no matter my exhaustion. Best not to use that temperamental wand though. I towel off quickly and move to the vanity. When I reach it and look up to the medicine cabinet/mirror I am momentarily stunned by the sight that greets me. I barely recognize myself. Through the sliver of mirror I still keep in my sock I could see that I was getting scruffy, but I couldn’t take in my whole appearance. Taking in the whole picture makes all the difference. I’ve grown about two inches, so has my hair. Facial and otherwise. What surprised me though was the tone my body has taken on. I’m still scrawny and disproportionate, but my chest and arm muscles are developed beyond anything I ever imagined them being. I flex experimentally a few times and squeeze my bicep once. Hermione hadn’t been kidding, my arms are like steel! But thinking of Hermione brings on a wave of guilt and the events of the afternoon threaten to overwhelm my already exhausted mind. I open the cabinet and find a razor in the center of the middle of three shelves. I pull it , close the cabinet and set to shaving. A haircut will have to wait. I’m nearly done when I begin to shake. I’ve had to stop several times to yawn. I’m barely able to finish. I set the razor down on the vanity and stumble to the bedroom. I collapse on the bed, promising myself I’ll only rest a while, then set about solving the mystery of the prophecy.

When I wake, I’m warm and comfortably tucked into a smooth and puffy blanket. I don’t recall getting into bed. I’m reluctant to open my eyes, but then I hear a soft sigh beside me. I freeze in terror. Where am I? Who’s with me?

“Blissful idiot.”

Everything comes rushing back to me. I open my eyes and see an exhausted looking Severus Snape hovering over me. He said he'd be late? I’ve only dozed for a moment. I sit up quickly and start my apologies.

“Oh! You’re back!” I hop out of bed and turn to the nightstand to start looking for my glasses. “I’m sorry, sir, I only meant to rest a moment. I was more tired than I realized. By the time I was done shaving I…” now the rest comes back to me. I laid on the bed. I never dressed. I’m still in not but boxer shorts. My glasses are likely on the vanity where I left them. I feel my entirety go crimson. I turn slowly to face him, expecting disgust or terror or anger. Instead amusement is written across his features and his eyes are alight with mirth. 

“Erm… what time is it?” 

“Just after one.”

“A.m.?!”

“Indeed.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry! Have you just got here?” 

He shifts awkwardly and plucks at his imaginary lint. I squash the line of endearments that tries to invade my mind. Whatever ridiculousness has been plaguing my mind these last weeks, he loved my mother. It makes everything that happened between them that much worse. 

“I’ve been here for sometime.”

My waking thought returns. I fell asleep length wise, atop the covers and woke up appropriately positioned beneath the blankets…

“Oh.” 

 

He sees something in my face and fidgets uncharacteristically. I take pity on him and start to change the subject when my stomach growls loudly. I blush further before realizing I’m still boxer clad and blush so deeply it feels fatal. 

“I thought that might be an issue. Between the state of the bathroom and the look of your ribs it has become quite apparent you are incapable of taking care of yourself. I’ve taken it upon myself to do that for you. I suspect chicken will serve for the Golden Gryffindor palate?”

Even if he didn’t love my mother, or if he was… gay… he’d never had any shortage of insults in terms of my appearance. I was scrawny, stunted, my eyes too big, my hair too messy. Best to have come to terms with this now before this nameless thing could take shape. 

He’s looking at me. I attempt a smile, but it comes out more a grimace.

He gives me an indignant look, “You’ll eat the chicken.”

“No! No, chicken’s great. I just. It’s nothing.”

“What’s happened? Did you see something while you slept?’

“No nothing like that. I think I’m still tired.” The lie comes easier than I am entirely comfortable with, but maybe it’s a good thing that it’s easy to close myself off from him, considering what I’ve learned. 

He seems uncertain but drops the subject. “Well, come eat then and I’ll leave you to sleep. It’s late after all and I do have responsibilities aside from now feeding and keeping you company.” 

I nod. “Thanks for cooking for me. You shouldn’t have. I can do that for myself I was just so tired.”

“If you’ll recall I instructed you to eat and then rest. If we’re going to do this you’ll need to do as I say, as it is evident you can’t be left to your own devices.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re exhausted, skin and bones, left all personal belongings in the bathroom, including your wand and the button which easily could have become lost, and left Dumbledores pensieve open on the kitchen table. Not to mention passed out in boxer shorts. What if you had needed to make a hasty escape? Honestly, do you use that brain of yours for anything beyond quidditch? Are you completely unable to consider these sorts of things or do you simply enjoy pushing your luck? If we’re going to work together you’ll going to have to do as I say. Start by putting some clothes on, for Merlin’s sake!”

Through his spiel he has bounced between scolding, irritated, and concerned and I am certain I have never heard him so emotional. I can’t quite bring myself to move after he stops speaking, I simply stare at him and see him grow flustered as I do. 

“Er… sorry. I’ll just…” I make a dash for the bathroom without finishing my sentence. 

I enter through the door between the tub and the shower and find all of my belongings neatly folded and placed on the vanity, including the clothes I wore when I arrived. The button is placed to the left of those, the clean clothes to the right, my glasses, sliver of mirror and wand to the far left. He appears to have spelled my clothes clean. I am stunned once again. I consider this nights events while dressing in the new clothes.

Snape had arrived some time ago, taken in my state and the state of the place and instead of growing angry or exasperated and simply leaving, he'd cleaned up after me, cleaned my filthy clothing, cooked me a meal and what… tucked me into bed?

I stop and stare at the clothes I’d arrived in. He’d told me more or less that he was going to take care of me, that he saw me as a responsibility. Had it been ribbing or did he honestly feel that way, as if I were incapable of caring for myself? Did he truly see me as a child like everyone else? My heart aches briefly before I scold myself and remember it doesn’t matter. He loved my mother, he could never see me as anything other than her son and therefore a child. I finish dressing and exit through the door to the living room. 

Snape is sitting, legs crossed and hands folded on one knee, waiting patiently at the kitchen table. I pause and take in the sight of him. He does look irritated. Aggravated might be a better word. But more than anything he looks bone tired. The deep seated misery in his features wounds me. I hate to add to it, but I know we will all be much more heartsick and weary before this is over. 

“Eat.” He snaps at me and I nod and make my way to him.

I sit at the table where he has placed the food and gesture to the pensieve where the other open chair is. “Did you look?”

“Much tempted as I was I did not feel it was my place.”

Why has he been so open with me? “You should. I think Dumbledore wanted both of us to see this memory.”

He nods and I continue to eat. Rosemary chicken, brown rice and cauliflower. All cooked perfectly. I hadn’t fully realized my hunger before I began eating. 

“This is fantastic.” I smile best I can with my mouth closed and full. He attempts to hide his pleasure at the compliment and turns to pull the pensieve before him. 

“Shall I leave you to it?” 

I shrug and nod, mouth too full to speak. He looks to me once more before dipping his wand into the silvery surface and being absorbed.

I eat and attempt patience in his absence.


	7. Possessive

I’ve successfully scared anyone unfortunate enough to seek out my company away this afternoon and have continued my attempt to drink away the new and unwelcome complications of my life, but it seems the simple pleasure of sitting and quietly contemplating the oddity of the day is not for me. An unusual amount of traffic has found its way to my office this evening, prompting me to spell the gargoyle at the bottom of the stair to allow no visitors. I desperately need to think, or imbibe enough alcohol to erase the desire. I sit behind my desk, push away the immediate sorrow and guilt that always threatens at that thought, and pause to wait for another interruption. I count a full minute, then pull my favorite brandy out of the bottom right desk drawer. I eye it anxiously and wait again. Something niggles at my spine, I can’t quite explain what gives me pause this time, but I feel as though something is wrong. I set the brandy down and wait. The hairs on my arms stand on end beneath my robes and a sense of anticipation settles in my chest. Something is wrong, but what? I have no cause to sense immediate danger, and yet I feel charged, static, like the air before a storm. And I have learned to trust my instincts and so I sit and wait for what’s coming. After several moments an itch like wildfire spreads across my chest and I push down my sense of impending doom and hope that the other members of the order had simply wanted to speak with me. Then I place my hand on my chest, whisper, “Explicare,” and am transported away. 

I arrive in the midst of a sunny, overgrown path. My eyes are assaulted both by the afternoon sun and the sight of Remus Lupin, werewolf and man child. 

“Lupin, that ridiculous creation is not to be used lightly. Whatever –“

“Snape, Harry is gone! Harry’s gone! He just left, and he's not here,” my stomach drops and a cold dread settles over me. “Ginny showed him, we hadn’t told him, but she showed him and he just left, we set al-"

Red hot, fiery rage eats away the cold and the fear. They hadn’t told him? He was staying with the Weasley’s but no one told him about that disgusting thing that had been done to poor Ginny, his girlfriend. I close the short distance between us in one step and punch Remus square in the jaw. He falls to the ground, I spot the button in his hand and wrestle it away from him. If I find Harry I’ll give it to him. With idiots like these in his company, he needs it on his person.

“You fools! You complete and utter imbeciles! Is there nothing you can do competently?! You let him fucking go?! You’re certain he isn’t here?”

He climbs to his feet slowly, looking tired. I feel no remorse. “We set ward alarms, they haven’t gone off. If he’s here he’s not in there and why else would he be here? Severus, what’ll we do? Oh, Gods, I-"

I grab the front of his ratty sweater and shake him. “Get ahold of yourself! Where would he go?”

“I don’t know! There’s no where!” He runs a hand through his hair and down his face. He looks on the brink of an anxiety attack. I hate him all the more. This is his doing, he doesn’t get to fall apart now. Not when Harry is in danger. Not when Harry has gone off on his own and snatchers are around every corner. 

I suddenly cant help replaying every moment of our encounter in my mind. Those green eyes, Lily's and not all at once, that cautious grin that had transformed before my eyes into a brilliant, glowing, cheeky smile. The way his blush had started high on his cheekbones and traveled down his neck to hide under that hideous Weasley sweater. An insane thought occurs to me, had he taken a coat? He’d be cold. Someone with a laugh that could inspire such warmth shouldn’t be alone, and cold, and feeling the way he undoubtedly felt. On the subject of feelings… I decide I've gone insane and cannot be held responsible for my own.

I drop my voice to it lowest level and enunciate every syllable for what I say next, “Remus, Dumbledore as my witness, if anything happens to him I’ll murder you in the most unpleasant way I can think of.” I mean it, and several pleasurable options pass through my mind.

“Severus… if anything happens to him, I’ll let you.” 

The earnest tone of his voice should please me, that he’s taking this seriously and obviously accepts the blame ought to make me happy, but there’s something in his face that I don’t like. Something in his eye that mirrors my own recently developed insanity. I don’t just dislike it, I feel a sudden territorial instinct flair to life inside of me and desperately try to stamp it out before it can become something more akin to jealousy.

 

“You both knew.” 

 

A chorus of angels, the ringing of bells. Harry's voice. I whirl to see him, take him in and asses his state. His knees are muddy but he seems nearly the same as this morning aside from anger marring his angular features. Relief washes over me. He's beautiful.

 

I hate him for making me think and feel this way.

 

Remus moves as if to rush to his side and I hate him as well for being allowed to do what I wish I could. Harry takes a step back toward the tree line and pleasure blossoms in my chest and tingles there. Remus is crestfallen and my pleasure doubles. 

 

“You weren’t going to tell me. I was staying in their house, eating their food, under the same roof as her, and no one was going to tell me.” 

 

A pang of guilt sullies my pleasure somewhat but I suspect he does not blame me, considering he knows I could not have known those who should have told him had not.

 

“Harry no one blames you of course!” The man truly is an idiot. He never should have said that, it will only upset him.

 

“No, of course not! No one ever blames me but then whose fault is it? You Know Who didn’t do it, just his Death Eaters, but they’re only doing as they’re told, same as you!” He points an accusing finger at me and he might have burned me for all that it hurts. But the truth usually does. The screams of children rattle my bones and Ginny’s are loudest. “But everyone has a choice don’t they? Like keeping obvious targets away from a school run by Death Eaters! Or bloody well telling someone when a person they love's been tortured because of them!”

“Harry-"

“Oh, shut it! We all damn well know it's because of me! Can’t any of you be fucking honest for a change? Even with yourselves?!” Righteous indignation looks good on him. I calm my guilt and marvel at the man he's become. He sees me looking but I don’t do much to hide my evaluating gaze. He’s a little too distracted to care and closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

 

“What are we going to do. I’m not waiting another minute, I’m sick of waiting. We have to do something. Now.” 

 

“What would you propose?” I do my best to sound annoyed and bored in spite of the fact that my heart is racing and my mind’s a whirl.

 

“Take back the school.” 

 

“The moment He has you in the open like that He’ll come for you.” I suddenly realize I am very opposed to him actively participating in this war and have more sympathy for his friends and understand all they’ve done to hide him away from this.

 

“Then the horcrux you know about.”

 

“It will be difficult to retrieve. It will take me some time-"

 

“You’re not doing shit. I’ve had more than enough of people I care about endangering themselves on my behalf.”

 

Suddenly I have become a person Harry Potter cares about. My heart skips a beat and I am incredibly irritated that I find that statement anything aside from repulsive. “Charming as your emotional display is, I feel the need to remind you that we’ve been at this since long before you were born. We’ll not sit idly by while you charge into a fray that effects all of us.” 

 

“Then you’re taking me with you.”

 

Like Hell. “Oh yes, how very brilliant of you, drag you about hoping you don’t get killed along the way. As much as the idea of pointless baggage entices me Mr. Potter, babysitting does not s-"

 

His face flushes and his fists clench. Then there’s a sound like cannon fire and I whirl in the direction it came from. A barrage of pebbles are flying at me. I turn back slowly as he begins to speak again.

 

“Oh so I’m a child now, is that it? I’m fated to kill the Dark Lord and I’m thrust into the world to hunt horcruxes but it's still for others to decide what I know about myself and the people around me, and I’m a child who can’t do the job he’s destined to do?” 

 

Remus begins again and I hold my breath, “Harry. You’re right. We didn’t want to hurt you when you were already facing so much. We should have told you. But please, let's go back to the Burrow, talk this over-"

“No. I’m not going back.”

I draw myself up and consider him further. He’s finally grown a brain. I know where this is going and know what to do. I’m irrationally proud of him and excited at the prospect of providing for him. Which makes no sense but I am quickly finding sense matters very little to me where Harry Potter is concerned. A dangerous notion. The fact that I’m feeling these things is true idiocy, considering what Dumbledore told me must be…

Remus is becoming frantic, “Harry, Ron and Hermione-"

“Tell them whatever you want, I’m not going back and they’re not coming with me.” 

“They don’t deserve that.”

“Yeah? Well, Ginny didn’t deserve what she got either. No one deserves what happens to them when they get involved with me.” 

“This is much larger than that. You’re over simplifying things. This war is not just yours, it involves all of us.” Ah, he’s decided on the reprehensive parent approach. Desperation.

“A lot easier to stay alive when you’re not involved with the Dark Lord’s target.” 

“You leaving doesn’t make us any less involved!” 

“Well at least then you won’t have me to worry about! No one can see me coming and going from the Burrow, no one will catch Ron and Hermione with me, it's no one else’s responsibility to kill him, no one else should be risking their lives for me, because I’m not ready or too fragile or a child! I’m not a child, I’m no one's bloody ward and I’m done sitting around, waiting for someone else to decide when I’m ready!” 

“Very well, Mr. Potter. As you wish. Give me the next few days to prepare and we’ll set about retrieving what lies in Bellatrix's vault.” His readiness to sacrifice himself has become too much for me. I almost hope he changes his mind and stays, in the spirit of that hope, I pull my wand out to leave. He levels his on me and I am surprised into inaction.

“No you don’t. We need to talk. Remus, go.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you’ve got a long conversation of your own waiting for you at the Burrow.”

The bollocks on him!

“What?”

“They’re going to want to know what’s happened. You’re the one that’s going back, who else?”

Remus stares at him, bewildered and insulted but he does not push the subject. He disapparates and I expect he intends to return with reinforcements. It is highly unlikely that he would give up that easily. Harry and I have not broken eye contact. I wait for him to make the first move.

“I’m not staying here either.”

“I suspected as much.”

I wait some time for him to elaborate. The thought does not seem to occur to him. I sigh exasperatedly and propose the idea for him. “I suppose that was your idea of requesting safe harbor?”

“You owe me.”

How perfectly stupid and incredibly rude. I think I’d like to hex the insolence right out of him. “What, pray tell, brought you to that seriously flawed conclusion?”

“You saw what happened to her. You knew, and you kept her in that place with those people. You could have removed her from school.”

It seems I had the wrong impression at the end of our first meeting. He still sees me as he had before. Still a death eater, still evil, still the greasy git potions master. I run a hand through my hair, why is this bothering me? How has he managed to get under my skin this way? “It is much more complicated than that. If that's how you still think of me, however, then I do not know what it is I’m doing still standing here, nor why you would continue to associate with me.”

“Because I know you have a reason and I want an explanation. And that’s not the only reason you owe me. You’re going to help me because without me, the Order would still be after you and you’re going to need all the friends you can get after I kill that slimy bastard. But, no matter your reason or explanation, you owe me for Ginny. Not because it happened and not because you kept her there. But because it's a hell of a thing to look someone you love in the face and take the blame for something like that, and then to bring them to trust and forgive the only person that could have helped and didn’t.” 

There is a pause and he lowers his wand. I can’t argue with what he’s said, and there is more depth of thought than what I had assumed behind his statement. He's right. Guilt sowers my stomach. He can’t forgive me for this.

“Even though I know you wanted to do something when it happened and I know you couldn’t. I don’t blame you.”

He surprises me again. But I know he only feels that way because he feels guilty himself.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself either.”

“How can I not? It’s plain enough they did it because of me.”

“Yes, because of you but that doesn’t make it your fault. The why behind their actions is not you. I think you know that.” So many times Dumbledore said something of that effect to me.

This gives him pause and I take the opportunity to soak in the lowering French sun and it’s warmth, as well as the contrast of the afternoons gold to his black hair and maroon sweater. Much has changed between us. A year ago, I despised his presence. I loathed the sight of him and resented Dumbledore's unending defense of his person. In less than a day all of that has completely reversed. I find the sight of him the most pleasant thing my eyes have beheld since that night on the tower. I am overjoyed at the prospect that I now get to spirit him away, that I can help to protect him. He’s not who I ever thought he was. He is smart and kind and motivated, compassionate and empathetic. There is no doubt that he has matured greatly since the last time I saw him, but it seems he was always this person and only his behavior toward me has changed. I wonder at the change between us and what might have been had I seen this in him before. A feeling of impropriety settles over me and the rapid shift in emotion leaves me breathless but restless. I feel the need to act.

“Your friends… they won’t like this. They’ll come… I imagine they’re trying to persuade Remus to bring them here now. If you truly mean to do this… we should go. Now.”

He nods and moves towards and for the first time it occurs to me that this will require side-along apparition. Panic takes hold of my brain and my breathing quickens. He's looking at my feet and I find I have no courage left to meet his eyes. I stare at his chest instead, but it isn’t much better. Even through that tacky Weasley sweater it’s obvious that he is well muscled and growing broader in his shoulders. This is wrong, my every thought and feeling and desire is wrong. He was a student of mine, he's the pride of Gryffindor, The Chosen One, Dumbledore’s prized soldier, he is all the light and goodness of the wizarding world and I am a dirty, foul thing who knows too much about what is in store to be feeling this way about someone I could never deserve. Someone who could never see me in that way to begin with because there is no other way to see wretched Severus Snape. Someone who…

Is touching my arm far too… intimately, for side-along travel. Is he merely timid? He applies pressure and there is nothing timid about it. He's… he's not repulsed at the concept of touching me or being in my company? I take his arm as well, unwilling to say too much or the wrong thing with my hesitancy, turning his hand to the inside of my arm in the process. He resumes his steady pressure and I return it, telling myself it’s for his sake and not because I want to. When he seems pleased and meets my eye I tell myself it’s because we’ve set aside our animosity and formed a hesitant truce. When his gaze becomes searching and I feel the aura of our body heat charge with electricity I exhale shakily and tilt my head to signify that we should leave before I can make a fool of myself. If I see disappointment in his features I tell myself it's simply another sign of my mental failings. He nods and I apparate us away from the pleasant French afternoon.

When we land at exactly the right spot atop the small hill in English wood, I am remiss again about his poor outer wear. The snow is almost ankle deep and the woods are miles deep in every direction. If anything were to happen he’d freeze. I remember the button and try not to worry so much.

“I hope you were not particularly eager to escape the wilderness.”

He shakes his head and favors me with a cynical smirk. “Deep woods living seems to be all the rage currently at any rate.” So good humored in spite of everything he’s been through, in spite of the events of the day. He's just turned his back on his friends and everything he’s learned to trust and run off to an unknown location with someone he hated less than a year ago, and here he stands. Smirking and joking and looking beautiful in the snow. 

Green eyes meet mine and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking and feeling. My own thoughts and emotions are so out of control I’m curious what state his are in. As I watch, his eyes flicker down to my mouth and his pupils widen. 

I am awestruck. Surely I imagined or read too much into his actions. 

He turns nearly violet when my features turn to disbelief. He knows that I saw him looking, and he’s embarrassed to have been caught, which means there was an intent he thinks he should be embarrassed of behind his actions. He pulls his hand away as if I’ve scolded him and acts as though he wishes to explain the embarrassment away. I hope he does not try to, talking was never his strong suit and embarrassment probably would not serve to improve it. He looks to my feet and for all the world looks as though I’ve just rejected him. A foolish thought occurs to me. To let him know in some way that the same urges have come over me in regards to him, only him, in so long. 

Stop it. Don’t acknowledge it. To acknowledge it is to make it real and to make it real is folly.

“You must be freezing.” It feels like the only safe thing to say and when I do he looks at me curiously, as though he can read everything I wanted to but did not say written on my face. I press on, afraid that he can. “We should hurry and get you inside. I need to return to Hogwarts as quickly as possible.” 

He nods and looks around to try to get a sense of the direction we might be headed in, “Is it through the woods, or…?”

“We're standing on it.”  
I do not wait for a response, I move down the hill, trying not to seem as if I need the separation from him, though I do. How have I made it all these years as a spy? I am certain that all that I have been reading on him has simply been reaction to my own foolish obviousness or a mirroring of the same. The more distance I keep from him the better. In every possible sense. I turn to face the hill Harry still stands at the top of and force irritation into my gesture for him to join me. When he joins me I visualize where the door Dumbledore showed me was. I approach what hope is the center of it and tap out the pattern that should reveal the door. As it had before, the door forms itself of the earth that conceals it. When it comes to rest I flick it open. Harry marvels at it and I force annoyance into my voice, though it’s no easy task looking at his magnificently emerald eyes, round and seemingly twice as large in surprise. It is easy, however, to be annoyed at my lack of annoyance.

“It’s magic Harry, as usual. Now, please do enter before my absence becomes impossible to explain.”

He springs to life, nearly stumbling to the entrance. He steps up to the landing and takes his time descending the stairs. I barely not the, “Lumos,” he mutters as I try very hard to ignore another asset of his promptly displayed for me at the moment.

When he finally reaches the bottom I follow behind him and sigh when he makes no move to light fireplace or chandelier. I set the place to rights, summoning food and blankets, towels and tea. When well lit, this place has it’s charms. The wood seems to glow and the confined, earthy space feels otherworldly, which is a comfort in itself given the state of things. I look at the back of his tousled head and envy him. If I could stay I would. Given thoughts like that, I’d say it’s time to go.

“Eat. Rest. I sincerely hope you can find it in your heart to bathe before I return. Make yourself at home.” I step forward and grasp the ridiculous button between my thumb and first finger. “Here.”

He opens a callused hand and I drop the accursed creation into it.

“I expect you know how to use this?” 

He looks amazed and I fold my arms around my chest, self conscious and glad that he seems to recognize the trust I am displaying at once. 

“Emergencies only.” A good place to leave things.

As soon as I turn to leave he begins to speak. “You took it from Remus.” I had hoped he wouldn’t have stupid questions about this. I let my irritation bleed into my body language. “Did you hit him?” How could he know that? “You did. Why?”

“Well he’d lost The Chosen One. One can hardly be blamed for their actions at such a time as that.” Undoubtedly he is upset. I turn to sneer at him, knowing how reference to his fame scathes him.

He surprises me with another good humored smirk.

“Thank you for caring.”

He thinks I’m funny. He’s joking with me about hitting his werewolf. But why? How I hate not knowing things. This is why, I remind myself, I avoid other people. They make no sense. I scowl further and make a noise so he knows I’ve heard him.

“And thank you for this place.”

“It isn’t mine. You needn’t thank me for it. It was Dumbledore's. He intended it to be a hideout for someone eventually, who better than Gryffindor's prize student?”

“Thank you anyway. I know what you’re risking by even being here. You don’t have to help me and I wouldn’t blame you if you chose not to.” 

“Someone has to help you, Potter. You can’t do this on your own. You made the right choice today. Friends or no, you need someone a little more accustomed to staying alive by you’re your side. I will do what I can.”

“… Thank you.”

He’s attempting to connect. He has wanted to talk. I remember the accusation concerning Ms. Weasley. The possessive instinct tries to surge back to life and I ignore it diligently.

“It was… incredibly unfortunate and… extremely… upsetting. What happened to Ms. Weasley. And I was deeply unhappy to not have been able to do more.”

“Why did you not take her to Madam Pomfrey?” 

“She chose not to go. I sent Cho Chang for her through Professor Flitwick. She said she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.” 

This seems to satisfy him somewhat and he is quite and pensive once more. I decide to prod him with some misplaced irritation and sarcasm.

“It makes sense. Stubborn as you both are, I shudder to think what your children will be like.”

His head shoots up and he seems reprehensive. “Oh. Oh, no. We’re not… together. Anymore. We broke up.” 

Well I hadn’t been expecting that. “How interesting, I shall write…” oh wait. I am rapidly indignant on his behalf. “Is that why you said I owed you? She doesn’t blame you for what happened does she?” 

“Oh, no! Well, she says she doesn’t. Though honestly, that’s rubbish. But no, it was mutual. I’m not very available right now and…” 

There is a pause in which he seems to debate something within himself. He looks me over.

“… She's not my type.” 

All higher brain function comes to a screeching halt. Did Harry bloody Potter just come on to me?!

He blushes furiously and I don’t know what to do with myself. He did. He hit on me. It seems it was unintentional, but it was a flirtation or at least he let slip that he has some form of attraction to me. Or men. But he’d looked at me like a starving man eyeing a gourmet meal. He closes his eyes slowly and his nostrils flare as he attempts gain control of himself. I decide to end the awkward silence.

“Hm. Well. Nothing for that.” Not the smooth recovery I’d hoped for. It comes out rushed and too quiet. I curse the fluttering in my stomach. My heart as well. I’m getting out of here before I drop dead. “I’ve one thing to show you before I go.” I am up the sstairsquickly and he had sense enough to follow me. “No one will come here without me, so there’s no need for you to let anyone in. However, it occurs to me that you are young and probably do not particularly enjoy being trapped below ground. As such, should you care to leave and reenter, you need only follow this pattern with your wand.” I aim at the door above us with my wand and this reveals a triquetra with hieroglyphics of animals at the points, a dove at the top, a crow to the right and a vulture to the left. “Dove, crow, vulture, crow, dove, crow. Simple. No one can enter without knowing the key. And you have to know the precise location of the door to use the key and the door has been spelled to look like earth, as you saw, so no one can find you. You’ll be safe.” It’s part command part statement, he nods but does not look at me. “I will return.”

“When?” 

I pivot on the ball of my foot. I intend to cut him down, accuse him of childishness or cowardice or do any such despicable to make him not sound so eager for my presence. But his eyes are round and owlish again. Wide, and I read hope and desire there. I despise myself for my weakness. “When would you like?” Let the blame lay with him if anything comes of this.

“Whenever you want. We have a lot to talk about. Sooner the better. If you wanted to… or can… tonight? Maybe?” 

He wants me to come back soon. As soon as possible. He actually WANTS to see me. What cruel joke this is. “Tonight, then. It will be late. Try to eat something and sleep. Limit your outdoor excursions… I will be back as soon as I am able. If you need me though, use the button. I do not think there is any danger near here, Albus was careful. But if you have need of me-“

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”  
Fine, perhaps tonight, but ultimately. I swallow hard against some new pain in my throat and nod.

“Thank you, again.” His chest rumbles when he says it and I am drawn to focus on it. I am slightly worried that, should I look into his eyes, I will be tempted to tell him everything.

Including how I feel.

How ridiculous. How sentimental, how idiotic. Not to mention disgusting and horrid. A few hours in his company and I’m acting just like some hormonal teenager. Why? Because his face contains just the right angles? His eyes, symmetrical and nicely shaped? A few quality features and I’m reduced to this? It’s nothing more than a physical attraction, he’s nothing special beyond that, I’ve been behaving moronically-

“You’re an incredible person. Our side is seriously fortunate. I only wish more people knew.” 

I look into his eyes and feel my resolve crumble immediately. He’s more than looks. I cannot fool myself and he seems determined not to let me. “It’s enough that you feel that way.” Bugger all, why did I say that?! I feel my cheeks growing warm and can’t remember the last time I blushed. I wait for the laughing and taunting and consider erasing his mind.

“That means a lot, coming from you.”

I’m surprised by the sentiment and search his eyes for the lie. He searches me as well though I’m not sure what for. Whatever it is, in this confined space with cold air at my back and his the warmth of his eyes before me, I’m tempted to do something foolish, to give in to the insanity that’s come over me. My heart flutters traitorously and a haze threatens my mind and senses. I know my options, leave now or do something I’ll regret.

 

“I should go. I’ll be back.”

“Be safe.”

I nod almost imperceptibly and turn to step out into the cold. The few short steps I take feel like miles as I am leaving the only persons company I have desired in nearly a year. When I turn to close the door and catch his eye once more, I find a similar despair there. I feel terror at leaving him alone, odds of anything happening be damned. But as in so many things in life, there is no option.

“You too.”

I flick my wand and the door closes then disappears back into the earth. I breath the cold air into my lungs as deeply as possible and exhale hard in an attempt to dislodge these lunatic sentiments. To feel, to care, for Harry Potter is self destructive. I cannot continue this. It ends now.

I clear my mind and focus on my office. Before I was headmaster I had to apparate into Hogsmead and walk back to Hogwarts. On a cold, windy evening like tonight it’s something to be grateful for. I land before an already lit hearth and from that, know I am not alone.

When I hear his voice it’s all I can do not to jump.

“Ah, Severus. Returned from your errand?”

I turn slowly and kneel without meeting his eyes. I hold the position for a beat, keeping my mind carefully cleared and force myself to breathe. 

“Yes, my Lord.”

“What errand kept you so long?”

I still do not look up from the floor. “My Lord. It has been six months since I last left this school. A man can only deny his basic instincts so long. I do hope I haven't been too long.”

Voldemort's laugh is surprised and pleased. “Why, no, not at all. Merely curious, Severus. I had wondered about you. Amycus mentioned the you rebuffed his every advance, while I cannot blame you I was beginning to wonder at your appetite or lack thereof. Rise, loyal companion.”

I do as I am told without hesitation and make a show of adjusting my robes before meeting his gaze. 

He looks pleased. As pleased as snake like features can look anyway. He is smiling at me in a manner that I find most uncomfortable, I hide it behind my practiced half smile that always feels more of a grimace to me but seems to convince everyone else.

“Severus, you are a sight. I see now there is more color in your cheeks. I had always thought, if I were of a persuasion you would be quite the catch. As is, I am tempted to keep you for myself regardless. But where would be the fun in that for you?”

I know the response expected of me and swallow the bile that threatens. “On the contrary, nothing could ever bring me greater pleasure than to please you, my Lord.”

He chuckles again. “I will consider the request. I fear I am not here for pleasure though Severus. There is a situation I should very much like your help with.”

“Anything.”

“Very good. I am quite glad to hear you have a friend. We all know how profitable friendships in the right places can be. We have found a friend of young Harry’s most annoying this year, as you know. Luna Lovegood's father insists on printing that garbage paper and she continues to defile the halls of this school with it. We have the pleasure of her company at Malfoy Manner currently, and who knows what benefits we might reap from a friendship with her considering her connections. Xenophilius needed some persuading to reverse his positions, but not much. Luna, however, proves to be made of tougher substance than her father. A familiar face might be more persuasive, don’t you think?”

I think I might be ill. “Of course, how ingenious.”

“Indeed. I always am.”

“Beyond question, my Lord.”

He rises and approaches me. I drop to my knees as is customary, but he raises a hand and tuts. I stand back up slowly and he continues his approach until he is inches from me. To my great horror he takes my face in his hands and red eyes search mine. My heart pounds thunderously and I hope that, if he can sense that or tell, he mistakes it for excitement.

“Hmm, yes. You have known happiness today. I can smell it on you, see it in your eyes. It is good, one so faithful as you should be rewarded with whatever you like. You have served me well. Whoever this creature is that you have taken to must be special.” He looks to my mouth and my horror intensifies. I have seen him play with others and this scenario is far too familiar. “Very lucky. But I shan't spoil your evening with work. Enjoy yourself, dear friend.” He strokes my cheek then pats my shoulder and turns for the balcony exit. “Perhaps it will do our new friend some good to have a few days to think. I'll send for you when she's ready.” He opens the double doors and steps out, then disapparates silently away. 

I saunter over to my desk, but I don't move behind it. Instead I take residence in the guest seats, opposite the He had just occupied and stare absently up at Dumbledore's picture frame. He has not occupied it since shortly after he woke, and he is still absent. Another thing for which I am grateful. What will I do about Luna? If I tell Harry he’ll only want to charge in headlong and do something impossibly stupid. I had planned to use Griphook to get into Gringotts, and Luna is now with him. I could simply use her in some way and get her out of that place, but I shouldn’t involve her in the more insidious areas of the plan. And it would be tedious work to hide my involvement and make her part in the Griphook plan convincing. Perhaps best not to tell Harry. After all, she’ll need some place to go after her rescue. I can stow her away with Harry, perhaps it will smooth over the retrieval of the horcrux without his help. He’s sure to be angry about that, but this is simply too difficult ground to navigate to safely involve him.  
I summon whisky and fully intend to drink it until I remember the “true happiness” Voldemort claimed he was capable of smelling on me. Best not to drink, not when there is so much still to come this evening. Best to keep a clear and level head where he's involved, before this “happiness” can evolve into anything else. I need to stamp this madness out. I set the bottle on my desk and summon the endless mountain of paperwork instead. Mail from parents of students who won’t return, of which I try to lose most as the Death Eaters take particular interest in visiting those families. Requests from the teachers still here for time off, notices of resignations. Most dishearteningly, the request for potions ingredients. Things to sully my most beloved art in the hearts and minds of all who are unfortunate enough to participate in Slughorns class this year. I sigh and set to it, trying to forget the feel of clammy, lifeless hands on my face. In my solitude, I allow myself to remember happier things. Green eyes and a golden sunset, the rustle of crisp leaves as the air stirs around us, this is the first thing that comes to mind. In spite of chastising myself for the inappropriate pleasure I feel at the memory, I frown a little less and press on.

When I stop, it is nearly 11 and I barely seem to have made a dent. I rub my eyes and summon tea. I clear my mind. Best not to think on what I’m doing, rushing off in the dark to a handsome young man eagerly awaiting my return. I laugh aloud. No one would believe it if I said it. I don’t even believe it. I stand and stretch. My stomach growls loudly and I consider a trip to the kitchen. Almost as soon as the thought occurs to me I shoot it down. Who knows who I would encounter on the way there or back. There is absolutely no one I want to see or speak with in this school. But for the first time since that horrible night, there finally is someone I want to see. What a cruel twist of fate, to finally feel something, to take an interest after all this time of cool disinterest, in someone destined to die. No one is a better master of their emotions, thoughts and will than I. Whatever madness came over me, I’ve come to my senses and it's done now. I’ll prove it to myself, I’ll go and see him as I always have. The arrogant duplicate of James Potter. I’m too eager to wait any longer, I need to prove to myself that this was a fluke, a product of nearly a year of loneliness and a reaction to the first gesture of kindness I’ve seen in that time. 

I scribble out a note that I’ll be back before classes and disapparate to that cold mound in deep woods. I’m suddenly nervous and shake my head at the preposterous behavior I’ve exhibited today. I huff a short breath, then move down the hill to the exact point I need to be in to reveal the door. When the door settles into existence I open it and take another steadying breath before heading down the stairs. I flick my wand and the door closes back, I imagine I can hear the earth shifting back into place to hide it. I take inventory of the room an find it nearly how I left it and empty one Harry Potter. However, the careless dolt has left pensieve standing open on the kitchen table. Anger surges through me. If anyone had tracked us and found this place, that would be the first thing to greet them and that would be the end of me. I step closer and see a vial with no contents. I eye the shimmering water covetously but my morals win out. I’ll wait for an invitation. 

I see he drank the tea. The bathroom door stands open and when I move toward it I see that he took the towels from where I left them. He must have showered. Thank heavens for that. I peek into the empty bathroom and find his possessions strewn throughout. I roll my eyes and cast cleaning charm on his clothing before I charm them to fold themselves, then charm the clean clothes he abandoned to do the same.

Wait.

What are the clean clothes he should be wearing doing on the floor?

Fear takes hold of me and I cast my eyes about the room for anything off. His wand is on the ground along with the button, that foolish twit! And a… sliver of glass? I look to the mirror over the vanity and see it intact, a dirty razor set beside the sink. The glass door to the shower is fine as well. Where had the glass come from? I set his belongings down on the vanity and rush to the bedroom, anxiety pulsing through my being.

“Harry?” I call out in concern, hoping that he’s only involved in some form of nonsense in the other room, although the house is unbearably still currently. 

A large snore answers me as I step through the doorway. Merlin help me, I can’t catch a break today. 

He’s spread lengthwise across the bed, arms above his head, legs dangling over the edge, muscular form well framed and black boxers hanging low on his hips. I’m either the luckiest person I know or the least, my warring emotions and logic can’t decide. 

I can’t move, I can barely breathe. Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I control myself? Why does he have to look so perfect and why do I think he looks perfect?

My mouth waters and I’m certain I’ve died and gone to Hell. Why? Why him, why James Potters child, why someone with his destiny and why me? Was I cursed as a child? To lead such a miserable life and now this, it’s more than anyone deserves. 

I’m angry now, between the state of the place and his lax guard and my inability to control myself I’m nearly furious. Anger breaks whatever spell had me frozen in the doorway and I move across the room to shake, or possibly slap, him awake. He’s snoring lightly and he is twice as beautiful clean shaven and relaxed in sleep. My anger threatens retreat and I struggle to keep hold of it. I reach out to shake him before it can leave me entirely. When my hand makes contact with his side it flees in a rush. I can feel every rib and his skin is ice. The room is slightly chill, the fireplace in the next room can’t quite compensate for the entire space. I sigh exasperatedly and consider the ratty blanket in the next room. I look to the puffy quilt he sleeps atop and shake my head. I pull the top of it down and steel myself against touching him more intimately. I put an arm beneath his knees and struggle one beneath the top of him. Moving into this position has me craned above his torso and I look into his face as it seems the safest thing to look at in his barely clothed state. His eyebrows knit together slightly and his arms move to his chest. I lift him more easily than I should be able to lift any man for his malnourished state and he mumbles incoherently. I can’t help smiling. I hold him closer to me and take more time moving him than is strictly necessary. Now that I’ve looked at his face sans-beard I am unable to pull my eyes away. Angular cheekbones, firm chin, strong jaw, almond eyes and perfectly proportioned greek nose below a mass of unruly, untrimmed black hair. He is something to behold even without the knowledge of those stunning green eyes and the fact that he is very nearly nude…

In my arms.

Beside a bed.

I move quickly and place him gently where I’ve folded back the cover. While my arms are trapped beneath him, we are chest to chest and I try very hard not to think or breathe or feel while I carefully pry my arms out from below him.

He burrows into my warmth and therefore my neck.

I yank my arms out from beneath him and take several shaky breaths. I run my hands through my hair and down my robes and desperately attempt to master myself. He moans the loss of warmth and I feel like screaming.

Some cruel joke indeed.

I hurriedly tuck the covers around him and he seems pleased once again. I practically run from the room to the kitchen and set about cooking the first items I can get my hands on. Anything to take my mind off of what I never should have seen or touched or smelled.

God's, the smell of him. Like vanilla and sandalwood and honeysuckle.

I drop a pan to the floor and curse inwardly. My heart is racing, my hands shaking, I feel as though I’m suffocating and parts of me I’d rather not acknowledge are aching as a reminder of how incredibly inappropriate this is. I need to leave. I need air. I stumble the short distance to the stairs and scale them as quickly as possible. I take out my wand and attempt to leave but as all the blood has rushed from my brain to the opposite head I find it impossible to remember the pass. I try to take deep breaths and calm myself but the space seems to be filled with his infuriating, intoxicating scent. 

That's it. This is ridiculous. My reactions to him and his presence, while completely irrational, are undeniable. It’s something that seems to only get worse the more I try to deny it, so perhaps the best course of action would be to simply acknowledge it. Admit that there is an… attraction, and leave it at that. It means nothing. That it's Harry Potter is unfortunate, but in the scheme of things that only serves to make this that much more simple. There can be nothing beyond this attraction because it’s Harry, and considering what I know, there isn't even an option. I take steadier breaths and it helps to clear my mind. I turn back down the stairs and into the kitchen to set about making a meal. As I cook, my mind only clears further and after I eat I feel more myself than I have since early this afternoon. I take tea after I’ve eaten and consider the fire and the pensieve at length while I wait. I check the time and grow impatient. By one I decide he’s slept long enough and refuse to lose courage as I approach the bedroom.

He’s exactly as I left him and I am irritated at how exhausted he must have been to not even stir when someone picked him up and moved him. I stand over him, consider all that is Harry Potter and his place in the world once more. As much weight as his shoulders bear, as much guilt as he carries, there is still so much happening that he doesn’t know. Things people such as myself shelter him from, multitudes of people who would die for him, spare no expense to protect him, sacrifice everything to keep him safe. And here he is, sleeping soundly with more or less zero thought to protect himself, no glasses, no wand, no clothes, unfed and exhausted.

“Blissful idiot.”

His eyebrows knit momentarily and then his eyes spring open. They meet mine and he inhales sharply then sits up.

“Oh, you’re back!” He jumps from the bed, apparently forgetting his scantily clad state and turns his back to me to search the nightstand for something. “I’m sorry, sir, I only meant to rest a moment. I was more tired than I realized. By the time I was done shaving I…” he freezes unexpectedly and seems to remember himself. He turns toward me slowly, not before I notice that he blushes across his full body, apprehension written in his features. I feel the current circumstances far less embarrassing than the state I found him in and as such consider this extremely humorous.

“Erm… what time is it?” 

“Just after one.”

“A.m.?!”

“Indeed.”

“Oh! I'm so sorry! Have you just got here?” 

I wonder briefly if it was odd for me to have spent nearly three hours waiting for him to wake up. Thankfully he seems unaware that I moved him and I feel awkward at the idea of him coming to that realization. Will he think it’s odd that I’ve cooked for him? I can’t help that I feel I should care for him. He obviously needs the assistance and I want to be the one he depends on, I’m the only capable person he knows.

“I’ve been here for sometime.”

 

Thoughtfulness comes over his features, then realization. He eyes me with extra consideration then simply says, “Oh.”

Oh, heaven help me he does remember. That look on his face, he does think it was odd of me. Of course he does, it was! Why wouldn’t he?! It’s only odd if I let on that it was anything less than a strange courtesy, if I seem unashamed then he won’t think anything of it, but to seem unashamed I need to hold still and I can’t! I’ve faced inquisition from the Dark Lord and held still, but Harry Potter looks at me curiously and I can’t stop moving. Why is he being so quiet? If he would just talk-

His stomach growls loudly. Thank Merlin.

“I thought that might be an issue. Between the state of the bathroom and the look of your ribs it has become quite apparent you are incapable of taking care of yourself. I’ve taken it upon myself to do that for you. I suspect chicken will serve for the Golden Gryffindor palate?”

 

He looks at me and through me at once. He seems vaguely sad and stays quiet for a moment more before coming back to himself and grimacing at me. Was that about the chicken?

Gods, what a brat! “You’ll eat the chicken.”

“No! No, chicken’s great. I just. It’s nothing.”

Not a brat then, but a liar. And not a good one.

“What’s happened? Did you see something while you slept?’

“No nothing like that. I think I’m still tired.” 

Still lying. I am unsure why, but I feel that something has changed in my absence. He seems more reserved. Closed off from me. Perhaps he’ll discuss it while he eats. “Well, come eat then and I’ll leave you to sleep. It’s late after all and I do have responsibilities aside from now feeding and keeping you company.” 

He nods, but still does not smile. He’s always smiling, but he hasn’t once yet. “Thanks for cooking for me. You shouldn’t have. I can do that for myself I was just so tired.”

“If you’ll recall I instructed you to eat and then rest. If we’re going to do this you’ll need to do as I say, as it is evident you can’t be left to your own devices.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re exhausted, skin and bones, left all personal belongings in the bathroom, including your wand and the button which easily could have become lost, and left Dumbledore’s pensieve open on the kitchen table. Not to mention passed out in boxer shorts. What if you had needed to make a hasty escape? Honestly, do you use that brain of yours for anything beyond quidditch? Are you completely unable to consider these sorts of things or do you simply enjoy pushing your luck? If we’re going to work together you’ll going to have to do as I say. Start by putting some clothes on, for Merlin’s sake!” I’ve become flustered, thinking of all that could have happened to him, how easily someone could have made off with him, how poorly he’s cared for himself, how little his “friends” seemed to have minded his diminished state. I’ll take care of him, what time remains to him I will ensure he is minded over, I won’t let undue stress or damage come to him, nothing will happen to My Harry while-

My brain goes screamingly quiet. What had my train of thought just led to? What had I called him?

“Er… sorry. I’ll just…” He scampers off and I am grateful for his absence. I’m beginning to fear I truly have lost my mind. I exit to the kitchen and sit at the table. 

Why? What’s come over me and why now? For God’s sake, I have met Veela and had zero reaction, but in less than 12 hours I seem to have lost it completely over one scrawny, teenaged boy. It had been a slip. That's all. I’ve always been… possessive… and I feel responsible for and attracted to said scrawny teenager. Muddled emotions can give a mind all manner of slips. Coupled with exhaustion, it’s really no surprise. Let it go. Cut yourself some slack. 

He comes to the doorway and looks at me with that same distant sadness and it’s heart wrenching. I can’t understand it and I don’t like it. Paired with his bare feet, something about the picture is unbearable.

I snap at him, “Eat.” He nods and pads across the wood floor sullenly. I have the strange urge to hug him. Why the change in attitude? Has the day simply caught up with him now that he’s alone and so secluded?

When he sits he points to the pensieve. “Did you look?”

I should scold him for leaving it open. “Much tempted as I was I did not feel it was my place.” That doesn’t count, I’ve gone soft.

“You should. I think Dumbledore wanted both of us to see this memory.”

I nod and try not to appear too eager as I pull it toward me.

“This is fantastic.” A smile. Around a mouthful of food, but a smile nonetheless! Something else this day has brought me to be grateful for.

“Shall I leave you to it?” 

He shrugs and the sadness returns to his eyes as he looks to the pensieve. Has whatever's wounded his spirit come from here? I’m now equal parts apprehensive and anticipatory.

I dip my wand into the surface and descend through a torrent of colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry. Had to do Severus's POV. :)


	8. Change Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long I have nothing but generic excuses. But I hope you'll find it worth the wait! Please, please, PLEASE tell me what you think, so I'll know you didn't give up on me and so I'll know to continue! Thanks!

When I emerge from the pensieve I need a moment to collect my thoughts. What an odd set of memories. The two don’t really seem to coincide. First, he was talking to Remus about me, convincing him that I wouldn’t reveal his secret. Then staring down that doddering old bat while she spouted another self-fulfilling type prophecy. He couldn’t have meant that it was connected to me in some way could he? One would infer such, considering the lengths he went to to involve Harry and I. And it obviously concerns two people, at least that’s what I conclude from one man of two. It would seem these two are connected somewhat intimately, comrades at least considering the talk of “pure hearts glow” and “painful ends”. In regards to ends, this appears to be more insight into what it would take to vanquish the Dark Lord which is of course one Harry Potter's supposed forte which-

So ends my reverie. I look up sharply and see him idly watching me, picking something from his front teeth with his thumb nail.

I am highly irritated that I can muster no annoyance at his crude behavior, instead I am rather fascinated by the way his lips look around his thumb.

He drops the offensive hand to his lap and, totally unabashed, sets in. “What do you make of it?” 

I come back to myself and give my own mind a quick and thorough chastising. Distance yourself, Severus. Quit thinking of him intimately, let this go! “Quite honestly, it’s nonsense.”

Harry looks surprised. “Really? Nonsense? Well, I mean, I don’t set much by Trelawny either but she’s got some things right hasn’t she?”

“… ‘Whatever happens, happens to you by you.’”

“… Sorry?”

“It means, Potter, that we are all masters of our own destinies, and simply hearing such a thing as a prophecy sets in motion, subconsciously or otherwise, a series of thoughts, emotions and courses of action to either follow suit or diverge from what is spelled out therein accordingly.”

His brow furrows and lips purse as he considers what I’ve said. “So, even though she’s said things would happen and they did, like the prophecy about me, it doesn’t matter because they only happened because she said they would? That doesn’t make much sense.”

“That’s because it’s a matter of perspective and you’re looking at it the wrong way. The other prophecy was told and crucial parts of it were translated to… a person, who took stock in it and proceeded to carry it out. As such it now has merit and therefore we all hold to it.” Never mind that I carried the information required to the person who took stock, and never mind the quiver in my stomach when I look to whom it most affects. “As I said, a prophecy only has as much meaning as the person or persons referenced brings to it. The prophecy that has already been set in action that we all therefore acknowledge as meaningful is in no way reliant on this one and that is what makes this prophecy and Dumbledore's apparent faith in it nonsensical at a fundamental level.” That and the fact that it seemed to somehow tie Harry and I together… or was that more wishful thinking on part of my insanity? Or was that what Albus thought too? Why else bring Harry and I together, make him feel for me, sympathize with and force this… whatever it is… change of heart, upon him?

“Is that how you see it? I thought it sort of… I dunno… filled it out. The first one, I mean. Like, the first one said, ‘he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.’ Dumbledore sort of thought it was love I guess and… well this. It talks about a ‘pure hearts glow' and the ‘key to life', in the context of You Know Who, which is what this one is ultimately about as well, I'd say the ‘key to life' is killing him and the first prophecy and Dumbledore say that’s love. But it doesn’t really sound like that's what it’s about. It sounds… I guess dark. Or sad. It says something about leaving him with nothing but the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. You can’t leave someone with nothing but love. When you leave someone you love, it’s sad. So you leave them with sadness too. And loneliness. ‘Painfully ends.’ When someone you love leaves, they leave you with pain…”

He's been looking at me intently and talking with his hands throughout. As soon as this last statement leaves him, he quickly drops his hands back to his lap and schools his expression to blankness. His eyes are too expressive for any attempts at concealed emotion though and I mark the barely checked despair in them.

“What?”

He glances to his hands and away to the door before shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

“What's nothing?”

“It's alright really, I’d rather not.”

“Too bad. Tell me, Potter.”

“Well I don’t think you’ll like me asking…”

“Just ask.” I snap and he seems even more reluctant. I curse inwardly and prepare myself to be kind and still attempt to be impersonal. More softly I say, “What's bothering you, Harry?”

He finally looks back at me and his eyes show only apprehension now. “Don’t you already know what?”

I struggle not to roll my eyes. “What?”

“The beginning… in Dumbledore's office…”

“Oh.”

Harry says nothing more but waits for a response while peeking at me shyly from under his scraggly hair. A light blush is creeping into his cheeks and I wonder at his ability to withstand such frequent rushes of blood to the head. I also marvel at the appealing color of his skin and can’t help the direction of my thoughts after that. Mere hours ago, all of his milky, smooth skin exposed and chill against me. How his flush had traveled across the expanse of it and at the time I hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the idea of such a thing but now, with him across from me and looking so coy and this memory at the forefront of my mind… best not to consider it once more. Though he does seem completely unaware of how incredibly attractive he truly is and how provocative his mannerisms can be. It’s as if he can read my mind, knows of my struggle, and is determined I should lose this fight against my desire for him. More wishful thinking. I pull my thoughts back from that dangerous track and focus on the question. 

“The encounter between Remus and Dumbledore did seem to have several implications. But it only served to further my reservations toward what is insinuated in the prophecy as he did tend toward the romantic, however I never fought for Lily's affections.” I scoff and shake my head at the very idea of such. “As for Remus-“

“You didn’t?” He sounds rather eager as he cuts me off and I can’t help the eyebrow that quirks in his direction. Had the idea of that bothered him?

“No. She was a dear friend and nothing more.”

“Oh.” He attempts to seem uninterested but the damage is done. His posture is more relaxed, he breathes more freely, but he is still nervous, still looks anywhere besides me. I can tell something else is on his mind.

“What?”

He looks at me shyly again but less apprehensively. “Did you… well did you ever… want more than that? With my mum?” 

I roll my eyes and uncross my leg dramatically so my foot claps on the wood floor. He startles slightly and I smirk. “No, Potter. I am apparently among a rare group of men as I never did ‘fancy’ your mum.”

He looks unsure. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No, Potter, it’s the truth. In spite of what everyone seems to believe, and unlike practically every other male she came across, I did not fall hopelessly in love with your mother. I chased her relentlessly to try to keep my only friend from falling in with your father and his followers. I wasn't after her ‘affections' as Albus said. I simply hated to see her make what I thought were poor choices. She could have had anyone she wanted, done anything she wanted with her life…” a pain I haven’t allowed myself to feel in some time threatens to overwhelm me suddenly and I stomp it out before it can fully take hold of my heart and mind. It wouldn’t do to fall apart in front of Harry. Thoughts of his mother and the prophecy I relayed to her murderer serves to stifle the worst of my shameful desire. “But this is ancient history. Why Dumbledore thought it pertinent information, I can’t say.” I refuse to admit to him that my changed feelings have lead me to think it feasible Dumbledore thought the prophecy tied us together.

There is an awkward, thoughtful silence between us. I try my best to remain intimidating and am certain I am only able to do so out of habit. I have revealed things to him today that I have never told anyone before. Not even Dumbledore. But instead of looking mortified or mocking me, he seems sympathetic, deeply interested, and I don’t believe I am mistaken in thinking he seems relieved by my lack of feelings for his mother. I recall earlier when he had almost blatantly come on to me. I think of my departure, when he had seemed so reluctant to let me go. The way the air charged between us when we were close and his eyes drifted to my lips. My pulse quickens and I try desperately to reign in my self control. He can’t have been thinking the same things, feeling the same way. How could he? He, who is so young and beautiful. In a way it’s like Lily all over again. He is so impossibly attractive, so fierce and brave. The irony is not lost on me. I have not had an intimate relationship since before he was born, have not craved another person in this way nor had the time to waste on something so frivolous. And now, with nothing changed, I find myself seemingly without defense against something I’ve never considered an issue. And it's Potter- no. Not a Potter at all. Lily's son. The thought stills my heart and strengthens my resolve to never bring these shameful things to light. It’s only an issue if I make it one. That little talk about fates and destinies has helped to put some things in perspective. I need to take control of this situation. It’s more than likely Harry hasn’t picked up on any of my thoughts or feelings, which is fortunate. If I drop this now, if I do not further indulge in this nonsense, I can end this. We simply stick to business, no more personal conversations, no more awkward silences. It should be easy enough, once I stop indulging in my sick fascination, this will end. 

“I’m glad you were never in love with my mother.”

I say nothing, but am so taken by surprise at the candor of the statement that I lose my cool demeanor and let the surprise show.

“I've been thinking about it since I saw the memory. It would have made everything that happened between you two so much worse.” He pauses and wrings his hands together on the table. I focus intently on them and vow to myself that whatever he’s struggling with, whatever comes out of that well shaped mouth next, I’ll reply scathingly. I’ll tell him it’s none of his business, that I don’t need or want his pity and that I’m here to keep him from getting himself killed at the wrong time and we aren’t friends. “But… you say everyone loved her. Everyone says that. And you say most blokes were in love with her so- and you were so close so… why weren’t you?” There is no mistaking the look of hope on his face, the almost pleading inflection of his voice. In that moment, I know. What I’ve been guessing at, all that I have suspected and denied myself acknowledgement of is bared before me. This… thing… between us, is not one-sided. I am certain that it is different for each of us as he would be much more transparent were his feelings so intense as my own, but there is something there for him as well. So much so, that he was disappointed to think that I was interested in females and apparently was so distressed he had not spared a thought on the fact that Remus had had feelings for his father.

A giddiness seizes me and I am revolted by my own childishness. To be so excited by the concept that someone might be moderately interested in me? How tedious. I know this and it does nothing to damper my giddiness.

But I must remain in control. There is even less sense in being giddy or excited about this revelation considering who he is and what I have vowed to myself I will do. I have taken too long to respond and he has begun to feel foolish for his confession. This is good. It will make it easier to crush whatever delusions he holds or whatever made him think it was wise to confess to this madness in any manner.

He looks at me reluctantly from below his scruffy bangs and blushes and I note the tell. He absentmindedly twiddles his thumbs and tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth. This is the moment this ends, we’ll fall into a normal, casual association and just like that this oddness will be over.

I open my mouth to say that it's none of his business, that he's insolent and banal, that his mother was too and I could never have loved her because she was just as insufferable as him. Instead I say, “She wasn’t my type,” and my voice sounds strange to my own ears. It’s deep and coarse and there’s a teasing quality to it I'm sure I've never used before. I want to regret saying it, but every last nerve in my body thrills with anticipation and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. Just like that, my heart begins to gallop once more and I’ve lost all ground I had gained.

His eyes are round and his features blank. He's searching my face for mockery I suspect and is even more shocked when he finds none. I expect his typical lack of ability to formulate coherent thought in response.

“What is your type?” 

Harry is always full of surprises. I consider telling the truth and cold hard terror grips me. Why had I ever opened my mouth? What do I say now?

“Not her.”

There. A non answer. Hopefully closed enough to merit the end of the discussion. I give him my best “drop it” glare and ignore the hammering of my heart. I pick up long cold tea and sip it, simply to have something to do as one of the longest minutes I can recall ticks away. When I finally do risk a glance at him, he’s staring at me in amazement. So there it is. We both know, to some degree, that there is a mutual and strange… something, happening here. That’s only the exact opposite of what I intended, bravo Severus, bloody well done. Move on, drop it, it’s been acknowledged and maybe now we can get down to business.

I clear my throat to break the silence and reluctantly meet his eye. “I am still uncertain of exactly how to retrieve the horcrux in Bellatrix’s vault,” I pause briefly to give his mind time to catch up with the change of subject. He nods and shifts uncomfortably. He huffs through his nose. He chews the corner of his lip, obviously thrown by the rapid change in tone of conversation. I press on and resolve to stop looking at his mouth. I’ve been ridiculous today. Blame it on the lack of sleep or the stress I’ve been under, whatever it is I’ve had enough of it. I’m far too old to be lusting after this young man and letting that rule my emotions. “However, retrieving it will do us no good without a way to destroy it. I went through quite a bit of trouble to retrieve that sword and deliver it to you. Where is it?”

Harry's eyes go wide, then he rolls them and groans in aggravation before lowering his head to the table. “Hermione has it. At the Burrow. With all of my other belongings.” 

“Marvelous forethought. Would you like to retrieve your possessions or shall I?”

“I suppose I should.” He raises his head and frets over his pants while anxiously eyeing the floor. “Though I’ll be lucky if they don’t hold me captive.”

My thoughts turn to Luna and I force them elsewhere. “Molly is no doubt eternally grateful that you have refused Ronald’s further assistance. I think it’s quite likely she would cooperate in a covert removal of your belongings and anything else that might have him running off to battle in your absence. Though, for your sake, perhaps it is for the best if I retrieve your things.”

He stares at me, apparently transfixed. After a pause he asks, “Why?” 

“Though I can't understand what appeal a sea of orange hair, freckles and boisterousness holds for you, I doubt you would like to abandon it twice. As I am the only option other than yourself, I expect the task falls to me.” 

He nods and bites back some question or thought. I do my best to ignore his fidgeting and distract him from whatever improper train his thoughts have taken. “I believe I have some idea how to go about getting you a new wand as well. But it will be difficult. For now you’ll be keeping an extremely low profile. I’d like it if you would stay indoors as much as you possibly can. I’ll bring your things and a few extras as quickly as possible so as to keep you occupied. I suspect, in spite of your abhorrent performance in my class, you do know how to read?”

He smirks again and glances up from his fingers long enough to shoot a mock reprehensive look and nod. 

“Good. You’re going to have a lot of free time on your hands so perhaps you can learn to do something other than cause trouble with it. I’ll bring some defense books. Try to ingest and retain some information.” I rise to leave and he looks slightly panicked then springs to his feet. 

“I’ve meetings most of the day tomorrow or else my presence is otherwise expected but I will return with your belongings as quickly as possible. Eat. Rest. Enjoy the quiet as it is not likely that you will experience much more of it for a long time to come.” I take a long, measured look at him, that same defining air demands my attention though I continue to refuse it. We have already crossed lines I had never even wanted to recognize, I’ll take it no further tonight. 

But then he’s looking at me as well. Expectantly. I don’t fully understand it, I have nothing more to offer him, I don’t know what he’s waiting for. He still looks panicked and I find myself feeling oddly guilty. Dumbledore had told me once that if I were to ask Harry I would find his celebrity had not afforded him the comforts one would imagine, and he seems at ease with little to nothing in terms of creature comforts. But Harry had been with friends before. For nearly the last seven years he has spent the majority of his time with Weasley and Granger and now he's here, alone with nothing to do. I feel rooted to the spot and shame rapidly creeps into his face. He walks to the stairs as if to usher me on my way, though I don’t follow he says, “I’ll be alright. I’ll catch up on some rest… and you said yourself I could do with a meal or two.” His grin falters but his reassuring tone doesn’t change. Something in me breaks. He is resilient but today would have been hard to stomach for any man. “I’ll eat and laze about until you come back and we’ll make a plan.” He nods to himself and stares distantly at the floor. I can’t leave him like this.

I turn and stride to the bedroom. I hear him follow slowly but I continue on my path without looking back. Once in the bedroom I open the armoire and find a canister of floo powder on the shelf before me. I pick it up with a sigh and turn to see Harry blocking the doorway looking surprisedly at my hand. 

“That wasn’t there before.”

“Yes, you might have noticed hands can pick things up.”

“I meant that container wasn’t in the wardrobe before.” He rolls his eyes to punctuate his statement but when he meets mine he smiles gently. I ignore it adamantly. 

“The armoire is charmed to provide whoever uses it with specific needs. It will not feed you but it will clothe you and provide you with small things like parchment, quills, and floo powder.”

He looks alarmed. “We're on the floo network?!”

“We're on A floo network.”

I’m suddenly uncomfortable being in this room with him again so soon when I can see the creamy color of his skin on his bare feet. I’ve never liked feet. They’re the most disgusting part of the body; boney, sweaty, hairy, dirty things. But something about his make them less repulsive. Perhaps it's that they belong to him. Perhaps it's the shape, or the color of his skin, whatever it is, looking at his feet only makes me think of the rest of his body and that makes being in this room unbearable. I move to leave and he does not step out of the doorway, merely turns and I hold my breath when I brush by him, our shoulders just barely touching. Heaven help me, I must remember to maintain my distance from him.

“What do you mean?”

I begin sauntering toward the fireplace, trying to seem aloof and disinterested in spite of the jumble my senses have become. “Certainly you’ve considered that there is only one entrance to this place? In the event that someone were to discover it, there is no other way out. Dumbledore still thought it best that there be only one entrance as a singular entrance is more easily monitored. The wards do not allow for any apparation or disapparation within the walls, and the only other option for escape is the fireplace. Something I am certain you did not notice, there is no chimney to this particular fireplace.” I gesture toward it lazily, and look back to smirk at him. “Ingenious, really. Dumbledore never trusted the ministry. When they imposed restrictions on the floo network he knew what that could mean. All magic is traceable, floo, aparation. Even brooms can be tracked in different ways. So the answer, of course, was simply to use the ministries own tools against them. It works much like side along apparation. Dumbledore put a trace on the magic that monitors, tracks and creates the legal floo network and this fireplace uses that magic to transport persons anonymously. The magic already exists and as such there is nothing to track. It only reads as something that is always there. This fireplace is transportable, thus the lack of chimney. Dumbledore has kept it here for safe keeping but it was created to move when necessary. It’s almost more portkey than floo.”

“He really did think of everything…”

The smirk leaves my face. I look back to his creation and mumble to myself, “Almost.” 

My mind is transported back to that night. I remember watching from the shadows as Malfoy left the Slytherin Dungeons, following him to the room of requirement and watching as he emerged a short while later, looking harried. He left the door open and I heard Bellatrix’s insane cackle from within. I watched in horror as she pulled Death Eater after Death Eater out of the vanishing cabinet. I thought it would happen then, that they were coming to take over the school at that very moment, that we'd kill Dumbledore and they’d make their move that very night. I rushed after Draco as quietly as possible and though at that late hour I couldn’t help the slight echoing of my footsteps in Hogwarts empty halls, he was too preoccupied to note it. I fell in with his short, clipped steps and every click of his heel marked the seconds ticking away to the end of Albus' time. I wanted to stop him, even then. Hoped he'd come to his senses. But then Bellatrix and the Dark Lords other puppets were bringing up the rear. It was too late. These were the last, fleeting moments of Dumbledore’s Hogwarts. The magic he brought to this place, his own unique signature. Tonight would be the end of all of that. And for what? A madman’s whimsy? If only I would have done more, if I had followed Draco more closely in the beginning. If I had known about his plan, if I had known about either cabinet. Dumbledore might still be here. I wouldn't have this memory, my mouth forming those words, the explosion of green from my wand, watching as my only friend, my family and protector of the wizarding world at large fell. Fell at my hand, beyond reach, away from this world. 

A hand on my shoulder startles me and when I whirl and see those eyes, kind and round and curious, peering at me from beneath impossible hair, it's too much. Not in the way that his presence has been too much this day, too much because he was there. He'd been there that night, watching from below. He saw what I did, watched as I killed someone we both loved and spoke my inner thoughts as we fled the tower and the grounds. He’d called me a coward and it rang true. I’d never hated him more than I did in that moment, because the truth had hurt when there was already so much pain burning away at my being. It was cowardly, to allow this to come to pass, to let who this boy needed most die so that we might live only a while longer. To still be keeping that secret. And now his eyes on me, his hand on my arm, it stings worse than any of the abundance of hurt that night had. What I took from him, what I took from the world, he SAW and yet here he is with a hand on my arm and that concerned, kindness in his eyes. Why is he here? How can he stand to be near me, tainted as I am, with what he bore witness to. It's all too much, knowing what I know, being who I am, who he is. I need space, to stop looking at him, to end the contact. I turn away but he doesn’t let go. He gently, but firmly, squeezes my bicep. I open my mouth to voice my outrage but he cuts me off before I can begin.

“It’s alright. It happens to me too… when I think about him and that night. I doubt everything that we did, that we didn’t do… I ask myself why I didn’t do more, how I could have let that happen. But in the end, it was what he planned, what he wanted. You want to know how I know?” 

He’s too close. Too incredibly close. He inched forward at some point while I was transfixed by him apparently reading my mind. I wonder absurdly if Trelawney knows he can do that. Why is he always so close? He doesn’t even seem to notice, but it completely undoes me.

“I know because of where we are. A place he showed you, a place that I need. I know because of the pensieve and what’s inside. He wanted us to be where we are at this very moment. He knew beyond a doubt that you would do what you did, he trusted you, knew that only you could do what needed to be done. And he knew that once I saw that, once I understood… he knew that I would need you too. Because of those things. You did what you had to, what he asked of you. What we needed you to. You shouldn’t feel guilty for that.” 

What he says makes sense, I know it’s how I’m supposed to feel, that those are the lines along which I am supposed to think. But I can’t quite bring myself to. I still doubt the logic of it. I can’t quite justify it, even though he seems to be able to. I can’t meet his eye.

“Can I ask you something?” My eyes flick to his and I give a gentle nod, but I continue examining the fire. 

“In the first memory, after you told Dumbledore what happened with Draco… and Bellatrix… you told him you couldn’t and he said you had to… for me…” I remember exactly what he’s talking about. That moment and all the emotion that went with it. I meet his eye warily. “What did that mean?”

The answer to that question is so complicated and treacherous that I scarcely know how to answer it. He does not know that I relayed the prophecy to Voldemort. He cannot know the guilt I feel at being unable to save his mother. He does not know that he himself contains a piece of Voldemort and must die by his hand no matter what, that Dumbledore thought it possible I might have a hand in that as well. He cannot know that now that I know him more personally, that I have a better understanding of his nature, that I know how things will end for him, there is little to nothing I would not do for him. Newly developed and highly inconvenient feelings aside, that ages old vow between Dumbledore and myself has taken on an entirely different meaning. I stick with the safest answer.

 

“A long time ago, shortly after what happened in Godrics Hollow, Dumbledore and I vowed to do whatever it took, no matter the cost, to protect and care for you and equip you to fulfill the prophecy.”

 

“Well there you have it. You’ve kept your promise and stuck to your word. And so did he. No matter the cost.” 

He smiles at me somewhat sadly and I give another nod as well as a heavy hearted sigh. All of this is so odd, so entirely unexpected I find myself at a loss. He squeezes my arm once before he drops his hand, and the familiarity should bother me but it doesn’t. I feel something change inside of me, but I refuse to examine it too closely for fear of what I’ll find. All of this damned sentimentality can only be dangerous. The subject of our conversation proves that. He looks nervous suddenly and whatever he might be thinking, I’m sure it can only be inappropriate.

“Well. It's already incredibly late. I need to be back sometime before sunrise.”

 

I see the thought, whatever it was, dissipate quickly and he nods and goes to sit on the couch. I turn to the fireplace and take a quiet, steadying breath. Rejecting these changes is becoming almost painful. Something tugs at the back of my mind and the core of my person, I feel guilty ignoring each new development for some reason. I glance over my shoulder to see him looking dejected and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Why does he look so disappointed? It doesn’t matter. If I’m passing off wishful thinking onto him it’s despicable and if his interest is genuine and as intense as it seems it’s not to be encouraged. I turn back to the task at hand and prepare myself for a possible battle with the Weasley mother.

 

I toss shimmering silver powder into the fireplace and the flames turn clear, outlined in gray, instead of green. I turn to Harry again and smile at his surprise. 

 

“This is what the Floo Network Authority see when they monitor us. Leaves rather less question about whose head was seen in what fireplace when there’s a clear picture.” He smiles and meets my eye and I look away quickly before the tug at the center of my being can define itself as a desire. 

 

“The Burrow,” I call into the fire, then place my head into the heatless flames. They shift and then I see a welcoming living room, empty but not dark. I believe I distantly hear footsteps. “Hello?”

 

The sounds I heard stop, then I hear running across wooden floors and a frantic Remus Lupin appears before me. 

“Merlin! What are you doing calling at this late hour?!” His eyes narrow on me. “Where did you discover our secret?” 

 

“Below the Shrieking Shack. Lupin, wh-“

 

“What are you doing calling so late? Is everything alright? What’s happened, where’s Harry?!”

 

“Calm down you fobbing lout! Nothing’s happened, everything’s fine. I’m merely inquiring about Harry's things.”

 

He calms considerably but still seems agitated. “If Harry wants his things he can come and get them himself. Running away like this, it's inconceivable. It’s insensitive. Molly's worried sick, his friends are heartbroken, I can’t possibly-“ 

 

“Shut your mouth this instant! I’m the one coming for Harry's things, and this is precisely why. You people guilt him into doing as you please, you manipulate him and lie to him and tell him it's in his best interest, and he's finally had enough. He's an adult and he can make his own decisions about who he wants to be around, where he lives and he has decided to send me for his things! Now get your bloody head out of the fireplace and expect me immediately!” I pull my head from the flames and the fire returns to normal. I stand and turn to see Harry looking at me as if he’s never seen me before. I roll my eyes and take another handful of floo powder before I set the canister on the mantle. “Honestly. It's high time someone said it.” 

 

He laughs and flashes me another easy, white toothed smile and I fight the urge to smile back. I sniffle instead and shrug my robes into position before turning back to the fireplace. 

 

“Thank you. Sir.”

The formality both comforts and irks me but I ignore the irritation. Sir is safe. Sir means he respects me as an elder, he still sees me as his professor, he doesn’t consider me a friend or companion but a chaperone and instructor. The thought makes my hackles rise. I want him to consider me a companion and not his keeper but I can’t trust my motives for such and so sir is safest and I must reinforce it. In his mind and mine.

“Don’t mention it Potter, they are your belongings after all. And it's best you continue to avoid the others until you wish to be in their company semi-permanently. I imagine they’ll not let you out of their sights again once you return.” That is, if he chooses to return before the end.

“I do feel a little guilty. Ron and Hermione… I can’t imagine how betrayed they must feel. But it’s what’s best for them.”

I can hear the pout in his voice and sense another opportunity to keep this distant and professional… or another opportunity to give in to the pull. Well… I don’t have to make it into anything inappropriate. Simply reassure him that he made the right decision. He needs the reassurance. But I seem incapable of keeping any extended communication between us cordial. I look at the floo powder in my hand and curse Harry and his charms. I clench my fist around the shimmering substance and steel myself against the discomfort that comes from doing something I am unaccustomed to. 

“I understand you feel you’ve betrayed them but you shouldn’t think that way. Nor dwell on the guilt you feel at the concept. You know the motives behind your actions, you know the dangers that lie ahead. They may have faced some in the past beside you but they were nothing compared to what lies before you. You’ve made the right decision. They were liabilities that you cannot afford.”

“They supported me though. Without Ron to talk to or Hermione’s skill I’d be done for by now.”

“Talking won’t defeat the Dark Lord. And I’ll be able to teach you all you need to know. Finding the horcruxes will be slow work. There’s still time.” 

“… Right. And I suppose hiding in this hole won’t give me much to talk about anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I chance looking in his direction and see him still slumped but considerably less morose looking. He looks to be cautiously studying me and I grow aggravated under the scrutiny. Aside from the discomfort I feel at comforting someone I can’t quite handle being examined so closely. 

“What?” I snap at him when I feel my cheeks growing warm and clench my fist a little tighter.

“Just… wondering if you’ve always been like this.”

“Rest assured there is no ‘like this' for me to be. I am merely telling you what is. Take it for whatever you like, these are the facts.” He smirks at me and his eyes glitter mischievously. My heart leaps in my chest and my breath catches. I whip my head around and fastidiously study the wood grain of the mantle while trying to put out of mind how alluring the man behind me looks twinkling in the firelight. “I won’t be gone long.” 

“Wait!” I stop just before tossing my handful of floo powder into the flames. He's standing and looks shy when I turn to face him. “Um… well I just hoped… that you might… tell Remus I’m sorry.”

Something clenches in my chest when I see his features fall and rearrange into chagrin. “Don’t expend your limited mental energy on him. He will understand though he may not agree.”

He huffs lightly and quirks the corner of his mouth. “Did you just insult me and try to comfort me at the same time? Does that usually work for you?”

 

“And now you’re thinking about something else. Limited mental energy.” 

He chuckles in earnest this time and resumes probing me with his eyes. I don’t feel uncomfortable for long though, he puts his hands in his pockets and draws his eyebrows together and begins examining the floor. “Please, do tell him for me. He worries about me. Maybe more than anyone else. I haven’t been very fair to him today.” Whatever clenched twists and I fight a sudden surge of some nameless emotion… anger? Maybe… revulsion? He sighs deeply and shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him be really upset with me like that. I just… do you really think he’ll understand? That he’ll forgive me?” He pins me under wide, hangdog, pitiful green eyes and I can’t imagine that anyone could ever refuse anything so heart wrenchingly beautiful and pathetic.

 

“Of course he will.”

 

He seems cautiously optimistic but still rather distraught. I expected him to perceive his actions of the day as a betrayal of his friends, I expected him to be upset and possibly try to change his mind. I did not expect such distress at having possibly disappointed his former teacher. To the best of my understanding their time spent together had been relatively limited, even in the time since Sirius’s death they hadn’t spent that much time together. Surely the fact that he’d been a friend of his parents didn’t mean that much to him. And after what he’d said about their treatment of me… not that I’d put that much stock in his emotional outburst, never mind what the sudden hollow feeling below my breastbone insinuates. 

 

“He’s always been there for me and… he cares about me so much and I just… well he’s good. He really is. He’s kept things from me like everyone else and he was cruel to you but… unlike everyone else it bothers him.”

 

“You needn’t justify your associations to me. And as I’m on errand for you anyway, what more is relaying a message.” It comes out more bitter than I intended and I see apprehension in his eyes and mild panic. He opens his mouth to speak and I cut him off, “It’s fine, Harry. I understand.” He looks taken aback and I sigh in exasperation. How wide is the range of his mood swings? I resolve to teach him to cover up, if not take control of, his accursed sentimentality. Not that I’m feeling so confident of my grasp on my own. I whirl and declare a hasty return and brace myself for another emotional whirlwind before stepping into the clear, heatless flames. 

 

I emerge gracefully and in what I hope is my most intimidating fashion. I stride to the center of the living room before turning in the direction I sense other people and am not very surprised to see Remus, Arthur and Molly before me. Let the inquisition begin. 

 

“Where have you taken him?” Remus looks miserable, more disheveled than usual, he sits rigid in a dingy old chair with Molly and Arthur on either side behind him. I get the distinct impression that they’re present more to his benefit than out of concern for Harry.

 

“He’s at one of Albus' safe houses. I’m the only person who knows of it’s location. He’s well protected.”

 

“And why should we believe you?” He stands suddenly, his chair scrapes loudly as it skids backward from his assent and the Weasley’s jump. I am unfazed.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“This morning, before that pensieve, we were out for your blood, and suddenly we’re just to put all of that behind us and let you run off with Harry? Based on one memory that we don’t know for certain is real? We’re just supposed to let you take him somewhere we don’t know, can’t reach him and leave him alone with you? Someone who sees You Know Who on a daily basis, that consorts with Death Eaters? And then we’re just to take you at your word that he’s alright? I’ll ask you again, where’s Harry, Snape?” He’s been stalking forward through his tirade and not since my teenage years have I been so frightened of his kind. I can see the wolf in his eyes, I always imagine I can smell it on him but in this moment I can practically taste it. When he asks where Harry is, he snarls his words at me. His body shudders, his fists are clenched, I can hear his teeth grinding and I feel my knees threaten to grow weak.

“Remus, calm down.” Arthur speaks in cool, measured tones. I spare a passing thought at how he can justify allowing such a creature under the same roof as his wife and children.

 

My mind is a flurry of activity, my heart rate elevated and nerves alive with anticipation, but outwardly I show none of it. I straighten my posture further, palm my wand and put on my most condescending sneer. “Yes, do try to reign it in. ‘Rabid' isn’t a good look for you, the matching behavior is simply excessive. If what passes for a brain buried somewhere in that thick skull of yours was working you might have already considered that, if I were a traitor you would all be dead by now. Or, at the very least, would have received word that Harry was. Since neither is the case, one might conclude, if they possessed the faculties capable of deduction, that I am who I say I am. Insults to my person aside I did not take Harry, he wanted to leave and I simply ensured his safety.”

He deflates somewhat but appears no less agitated. “I want to see him.” 

“He didn’t send me because he’s eager for your company.” 

His anger flares again, as do his eyes. “I didn’t ask if he wanted to see me. Take me to him, now!”

 

“To what end, you feral mutt? He wishes to be alone! It’s not everyday one turns their back on loved ones for their own safety, he has no desire to do it twice! He simply wants some privacy, to consider what has happened and what comes next, after everything he’s been through, do you not feel he’s entitled to that much?”

“He said he wasn’t coming back! He said he didn’t want any of us involved with him anymore!”

“He’s seventeen! He came face to face with his initials carved into his pretty, young girlfriends back! You might forgive him his dramatics!” Molly mutters outrage at the simplification of her daughters horrific experience, but I pay it no mind.

 

“Yes and you were there for that weren’t you? Why would he want anything to do with you after something like that?”

“He is rather limited in his options of who he can trust, which obviously isn’t any of you in terms of letting him in on the details. Blame me if you will for what happened to Ginny, I’ll not try to excuse my actions. But how dare you throw stones after you couldn’t even do him the courtesy of letting him know?”

He sputters a second before folding his arms across his chest and settles on staring holes in the floor. This behavior will get us no where. I take a deep, settling breath and place my hands on my hips. “He's asked me to relay an apology for this afternoon.” 

 

Remus inhales deeply and holds his breath for a moment before slowly allowing it to escape. He stares unseeingly at the floor for a moment and then slowly meets my eye. “How is he?” 

“Rested. Fed. Bathed, thank Merlin.” Don’t think about that. “Feeling guilty about his decision but adamant about following through. I personally believe he will change his mind, but he will have to do it himself. I think tonight is not the night, after this afternoons excitement, to attempt changing his mind.” 

“I just… I want to see him. To know he’s safe.” His tone is pleading, his eyes implore me. He seems tired suddenly, the root of his anger is exposed as hurt and I wonder again at the nature of their relationship. The twisted, clenched thing in my chest writhes.

“I do not think it wise. Not tonight. It is late, I have much to do tomorrow and I need only retrieve his things and bring them to him, then I must be back to Hogwarts.” He looks frustrated and places his face in his hands. 

“Molly… do you mind?” He doesn’t lift his head but she bustles away, up the stairs with Arthur in tow. He raises his head to watch them go, then levels me with his amber eyes.

“Harry means more to me than you could possibly know. I don’t want to hurt him or push him, I just… I want to know he’s safe. I need to know. I need to see him Snape.” There is a strange stifling quality to the air that wasn’t here moments before and an animalistic glaze to his eye.

“I will tell him. I’m certain he will want to see you too. He will be quite safe with me-“

“He doesn’t belong with you.”

I’m taken by surprise at the statement and find myself at a loss for words.

“He doesn’t. He shouldn’t be with you, he should be here. He was safe here. He should be with the people that care about him, people he cares about too. People that love him.” His entire person seems to vibrate with energy and his hands fist on the arms of his sweater. The clenched thing in my chest drops to the pit of my stomach. I am awe struck. It can’t be. “He should be with people that want to protect him, people that want him around. I want that, Snape. I want him here, with me so that I can keep him safe. Is that what you want? Do you even know what it is to care about someone that way?” He’s doing a decent job of covering it up, but I’ve seen this side of him before and he cannot hide it. He’s not just upset that Harry left, not angry at the situation and not suspicious of me or my motivations, though he could be. He’s jealous because he and I have similar tastes in one specific area of life.

 

I can’t help the smirk on my face nor the insinuating tone of my voice. This is just too rich. “What way, exactly, would that be?”

In two quick strides he crosses the room and knots his stronger than expected fist in my robe. He shoves my back into the mantle and pins me there. “More than anything, Snape. More than anything in the rest of this dark, shitty world.” 

 

Does he really think I’ll be so easy to intimidate? “Does your wife know about that?” 

 

He grins at me wolfishly. “That’s none of your business. What you need to worry about is making sure Harry really is safe. If anything happens to him, if you let anything happen to him, or if you’re not who you say you are…” he trails off, his voice grumbling at an octave barely more than a growl.

 

“He’s safer with me than he was here. If I recall, it was on your watch he that he left from this place, unaccompanied to an unknown location mere hours ago.” Guilt dampers his anger and he releases me. I brush myself off and straighten my robe before meeting his eye again. “I do care. I’ve been at the front lines of Harry’s protection for nearly his entire existence. Nothing has changed.”

 

“He still doesn’t belong with you.”

 

He says this nearly under his breath and I wonder again about his relationship with Tonks. He hadn’t dated at all in school, though I’d heard rumors he’d been in the same circle of ‘friends' as I who’s association did not extend past the astronomy tower and quick fumblings in hidden alcoves about the grounds. There had even been a disturbance in The Marauders circle in sixth year, when Remus had badly embarrassed himself with James, who quickly forgave him. The others had never looked at him quite the same way though. And of course no one ever knew exactly what had happened, though with my knowledge of his other friendships and more recently, Dumbledores revelation, little is left to imagination.

 

“He belongs wherever he chooses to be.”

 

“Well he’s making the wrong choice! At a time like this he should at The Burrow, with me, with friends!”

 

“So now you’re friends? He isn’t James.”

 

“No. He isn’t. He’s nothing like James, he’s opposite him in every way that matters, which is precisely why he couldn’t mean more to me if he tried. And why I’d be happy to keep him far away from you and everything you are, forever.”

 

I draw a blank. He’s right. I’ve thought it myself. I’m tainted, damaged goods. The delusional thinking it seemed so easy to wrap myself in in Harry’s presence is fully shattered. I could never be what or who he deserves, could never be someone worthy of him no matter what I tried. It isn’t as though this is some form of crushing revelation, I’ve only just recognized a physical attraction to him. What stops me is that Lupin has thought to point this out. Can he read my interest so easily as I recognize his? Why else would he say that? Well, if that’s the case, and we’re digging at each others obvious insecurities, I can play that game much better. “I hardly think he’s in any danger of being tainted by simply staying in a safe house Dumbledore gave me instead of you. It’s not as if we’re friends, as you put it, he wouldn’t have anything to do with me anyway after Ginny. He isn’t even particularly fond of me, and yet he’d rather be with me. I’m simply the better option currently, only providing for him the peace and security you couldn’t.” 

 

He looks as though he’d like to tear my throat out but then I hear Arthur and Molly on the stairs. He settles into slightly more relaxed posture and smirks at me in a way reminiscent of our Hogwarts years. “Yes well, a temporary arrangement I’m sure he’ll tire of quickly. Someone like Harry with no one but you for company. Tell him Molly will have a bed waiting for him.” 

 

“l'll be sure to tell him, if he isn’t already back in mine.” This cuts him in a different way, he actually growls this time and the corner of my mouth quirks. “Down, boy.” I mutter as Harry’s trunk sets down before me and between us. I flick my wand and his trunk opens. I roll my eyes at his total lack of precautions. On top, sticking out of his clothing, is the jewel encrusted hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor with a note attached. I recognize Hermione’s neat writing but am too irritated that they would store a precious artifact this way to be very curious. I heave a sigh and flick my wand once more to close the trunk. Molly sniffles and exhales shakily and I see that she’s been crying. Arthur seems to be holding back something and Lupin looks even further irritated. I roll my eyes and head and look to the ceiling. 

“He’s fine. He’s safe. Just give him the night, I’m sure he’ll be dying for at least a fire-call by dawn. Which isn’t far off.”

 

Molly collects herself and nods. Arthur eyes me warily but nods as well and Remus turns and exits the room. I collect Harry's trunk and walk through the front door, out beyond their wards and ignore the feeling of finality that washes over me. Whatever this was, whatever I had been feeling before, that must be the end of it, I can feel myself leaving it behind. Harry is attractive, seems only to be getting more attractive as the days go by, but he’s too good for me. He’s young, no doubt whatever attraction he may harbor toward me is misplaced, and the right thing to do is shut it down. So I will, for Harry, for my marred past, for his bleak future, I can let all of it go. In the end, it’s probably what’s best for me too, if I manage to get out of this alive. I’ve already thought this multiple times today, but I must commit now, while the reasons why are clear. Besides, it’s not as though I’m in love. I close my eyes and hope Harry doesn’t make this too difficult before apparating back to what felt closer to home than anything I had known in nearly two years just this morning. When I land on top of the mound I swallow down my apprehension and tell myself I’m mourning something that, in all likelihood, never even would have started. I trudge down the hill, stop before the exact right spot, perform the wand work and flick the door open. As I descend the stairs I hear Harry scramble to the base and try like hell not to find him attractive when I meet his eyes.

 

“I expected you to floo back?”

 

“It only works as an exit. As I mentioned before. I see you pay no better attention outside of class.” He’s your student Severus, you’re revolting.

 

I set his trunk down and make no move to leave the entryway. He seems curious but eyes his trunk happily. 

 

“There’s a letter for you from… Ron and Hermione I believe.” The word “friends” will have a bitter taste for the foreseeable future. His eyes light up and he moves to open the trunk but something stops him. He looks up and studies my face. I try to arrange my features to careful blankness. “Go ahead. I should be leaving, it’s gone nearly three.” I turn for the stairs and he runs to my side and grabs my arm. I dredge up irritation, the brat has no respect for personal space. I yank my arm away from him and he clings to the sleeve of my robe, horribly close to my hand. Panic seizes me and I go completely still. “Release my sleeve.” 

 

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Why would you think anything is wrong? It’s nearly three in the morning. I have things to do tomorrow. You’ve plenty to keep you busy, I simply want to leave.” 

 

“Give me a little credit I can tell when you’re pissed, I’ve seen it enough. What’d they do to you? What did they say? Was it Remus or Mrs. Weasley? I knew I should have just gone myself, they can be so demanding. Whatever they said, they just don’t know what they’re talking about. They mean well but they can be kind of overbearing, that’s why I’m so… well, thank you. For letting me stay here… for going and getting my things. You’re… er- you’ve been so great. Today. And tonight. Just… thank you. I’m babbling. Just… tell me what happened. Please.”

He’s so infuriatingly adorable when he’s nervous. I’m smiling, trying hard to stop and I look away to the door, where I should flee to, and breathe deeply to try to regain my control. It doesn’t help, the place is permeated with his smell. “Let go of my sleeve.” 

 

He does, but pats it back into place afterward and I ignore that he seems unable to help seeking out contact with me. I sigh and in unusual, unconscious gesture run a hand down my face. “Remus is furious.”

 

“He is?” Harry pales and that thing I had hoped was dead tries to come back to life.

“Not with you. With me.”

His face screws up in indignant surprise. “What the bloody hell has he got to be mad at you about?”

I chuckle lightly. “Where to start?” 

“Where did he?”

“Well. He questioned my fidelity, then implied I’d abducted you, claimed you belonged among friends and it was up to him to set you straight, then threatened my life.”

Harry looks confused. “That doesn’t sound like him at all.” 

 

I pause and weigh my response. “That’s anyone when they feel someone they care about is in danger.” An open enough statement, enough insinuation that it could peak his curiosity, but only if there's cause for it. He nods but then his eyebrows pull together and he focuses on some nonspecific spot behind my head. I give him a moment, more to gauge how intently he’s thinking and therefore how interesting the thought, before I bring him back to the present. “Harry?” He startles slightly and shakes his head. 

“Why or… how did he… did he really threaten your life? That’s just so… not… him.”

 

“Yes. I thought it was surprising to say the least. He’s quite worried that I might let something happen to you.”

Harry nods and seems to think of something before he shakes his head and looks back at me. “After all these years of not trusting you, now that I know you were the one keeping me safe, sounds barmy not to.” He gives me a distant smile and I wait patiently while he thinks some more.

“What did Dumbledore mean by what he said in the pensieve? That Remus should be more understanding because of my dad? What does that mean?”

 

“I don’t know the full story. Something happened in their group and Remus couldn’t see your father without practically crying for several weeks. It blew over quickly enough but… I do know that Remus was always particularly… enamored with your father. He was almost always talking about him and rarely ever far away from him. And if he wasn’t with him he was with a group of people who had not so secret, yet unspoken, private desires.”

Harry stares at me unseeingly as he digests this. 

 

“So you think… that it meant what it sounded like. That Remus… fancied my dad?” 

I nod. He pales slightly and examines the floor while chewing his lip. He picks at the cuticle of his left thumb with his right and toes the ground with his left foot.

“Are you alright?”

He nods. 

“Yeah I just…”

He doesn’t finish his statement and he doesn’t look up. He waits a moment further then meets my eye, something obviously weighing on his mind.

 

“If… I tell you something… could you promise not to tell anyone else?”

 

I have to feign disinterest, otherwise he’ll see through the double talk; but I’d hoped he’d have something to say about this. If something has happened between them, anything, then it would completely excuse my indulgence of this insanity. Plus, the added bonus of satisfying my curiosity. 

 

“I haven’t much of an appetite for gossip. There’s more than enough of it in my line of work.”

 

He nods, “There just… isn’t anyone else I could ever talk to about this and… I was wondering if you might think it has something to do with how he was acting tonight.”

 

A blush creeps up his neck and stops at his jaw. I don’t focus on it, best not to dwell on his exposed skin and delicate, angular features. We’re not to feel or think in those terms anymore. “What is it?” 

 

He stares at my chest as he speaks. “I think… that he might have… it seemed… like he thought… I think he almost kissed me. Today.” 

 

The last part comes out in a rush but I hear it clearly. A surge of vindication makes its way through me. I was right, he is jealous, and just as attracted to Harry as I am!

 

That thing in my chest reawakens, and suddenly it has a name. He was jealous. And so am I. I don’t like the idea of Harry being concerned with what Lupin thinks, I don’t like Lupin standing with Harry in warm, southern French country. Thinking about his ample, pink lips and creamy, flushed skin. I don’t like thinking about it, and suddenly wish I hadn’t heard about it. But now that I do know, I have a better understanding of Lupin's motivations. Though I can’t understand why, if he is gay, he has a pregnant wife. Or why he’s chasing Harry currently if he is. Or why he would be, now, after all this time, still caught up in his feelings for James and passing them off on Harry. Suddenly, what he said about his feelings for Harry truly sink in. That he cares about him more than anything. That doesn’t sound like lusting after his beauty, or anything recently developed. This sounds like long term, extensively considered, deep feelings. My jealousy flares and expands and I have the sudden urge to grab Harry and pull him against me. I tamp the feeling down into the black hole where all of my undesirable feelings go, and hope it doesn’t creep back up. He isn’t mine, he never could be, he never will be.

 

But he shouldn’t be the werewolf’s either. Neither of us deserve him.

 

“We were… really close. Closer than you and I are now and he… I don’t know he just looked at me in a way he’s never really looked at me before. And then he was staring at my mouth. And when he realized I’d noticed, things were awkward. I don’t think I was wrong about what he was thinking. But he’s never done anything like that before… I don’t think. And… well there’s Tonks. I just… I’m so confused.” He runs a hand through his hair. “If he… felt that way about my dad... I guess I look like him… that would make sense. I guess I could understand that it would be hard for him. But threatening you just because I left with you and being so horrible. That doesn’t sound like I just reminded him of my dad for a moment… he even said I wasn’t him. He… actually said that I was better.”

 

He said something similar to me. “When did he say that?” 

 

“When we were going back to the Burrow. I apologized for brushing him off when he tried to comfort me after I saw the memory of what happened with you and my parents. I told him I just couldn’t understand them being so awful and he said it was because I’m so much better than they were.”

 

“He must have meant it, to discredit James' memory like that. I’ve never heard him say a single bad word about him.”

 

Harry shakes his head. “I didn’t think about it like that. I just thought he was saying that they were awful and he was glad I couldn’t be.” He meets my eye. “But all of it together... it does sound like… like maybe he…”

 

I don’t say anything.

 

“Is… is that what it seemed like to you?”

 

Is this what I want? This could backfire, horribly. He’s so vulnerable right now. 

 

“… It did.”

 

Harry balks.

 

“He seemed… jealous. And defensive.”

 

He gapes at me, looking between my eyes, searching for a lie. 

 

“But I don’t think it something he ever intended to act on or genuinely confess to. He simply wants to see you and make sure you’re safe.” 

 

Harry stares up at me, looking frightened and uncertain. He looks at the wall behind me, then the floor and turns and walks away to the kitchenette. He turns once there and begins chewing on the cuticle he had previously been tugging at. He is still pale. He seems deeply disturbed. I feel a twang of guilt, but more than anything I feel the nag of my curiosity. Obviously he is shocked, but is he also intrigued?

 

“I think, Harry, that if he ever intended to act on these feelings, he would have done so before now. He certainly would not have married or attempted to produce a child. You shouldn't let it bother you too much. Unless knowing that is what bothers you?” 

 

He looks up at me, startled. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’m only curious how this makes you feel.” 

 

He ruffles his hair with both hands and shrugs. “I don’t… I don’t know I just… I’ve never thought about him like that. He’s… like… I don’t know he’s like Sirius. He’s family. It just… it’s so unexpected. I’m not… I’m just worried that… that things will be different now.”

 

“He’ll never know we had this conversation. At least, I’ll never tell him. There’s no reason for you to act as though you know. He’s desperate to see you. If he acts any differently, I would be very surprised. Behave normally and he will too. This makes no difference unless it means something to you. It’s something that has likely always been, you are simply aware of it now.” 

He considers this then nods. “Thank you for going for me. And dealing with that. It must have been… uncomfortable.”

My back twinges where Remus pinned me against the mantle. “It was quite tiresome.”

He laughs. “Tiresome, boring?”

 

“Tiresome, how do you people get through the day with all of these emotional outbursts.”

 

“Yeah. That sort of tiresome. I can relate.” He snorts quietly and I choose to consider it unrefined and not at all endearing. “I didn’t think I’d want to be alone but it’s nice. Peaceful.”

 

“I’ll leave you to it, then.”

 

He chuckles again, “That’s not what I meant. This place is paradise, compared to the Burrow. There’s never an empty corner in that place. But as nice as it is to be alone, it’s better when you’re here.” 

 

Gods, why? “I’ll have to disappoint you then. It’s late, I have an early day, and I don’t suspect I’ll be back until late again tomorrow. Feel free to fire-call Remus at your leisure, but I would suggest you not leave until I come back. Otherwise you’ll have no means to return here.”

 

“I’d rather not face Remus without you… even with a simple fire-call.” 

 

He’s afraid of Remus now. And I’m his support system. And that shouldn’t feel this good. “Where’s that famous, Gryffindor courage?” 

 

He smirks. “Gone, I think. I don’t know how to face something like this.” 

 

“Just remember there's nothing to face. He doesn’t know that you know.”

 

“Is that how you do your job?”

 

“Somewhat.”

 

“I don’t think I could ever manage what you do.”

 

“Nor do I. Something we need to work on, you show your every emotion.” Please, heavens, let that chastise him into silence on the subject of me.

 

Instead of seeming chaste he looks at me inquisitively. “What else happened?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You’re acting… odd.”

 

“I simply want to leave. I’m tired and have to much to tomorrow.”

 

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” He looks at the fireplace, then his trunk, then me and smiles weakly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

I’m finding leaving is easier said than done. Why is it so hard to leave him here? He's just… so alone. And it's cold outside, where there's nothing but woods for miles in any direction. I don’t like the idea of him being lonely or afraid. This is a new place, empty and sterile and I know how desolate that can make one feel. I don’t want that for him. And I believe that to be the reason he seems reluctant to let me leave. I accept the fact that I am sleeping on the futon and sigh as I step off the stairs. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable if l stay this first night.”

 

“Really?! Will you? That would be fantastic! I just… this place is pretty quiet. It felt like you were gone for hours when you were getting my trunk.” 

 

“Speaking of which, why don’t you read the letter Hermione wrote you while I clean up some. I’ll take the futon tonight.” 

 

“No, that’s alright. You’re doing me a favor, take the bed.”

 

“No! No. I'd be… more comfortable on the futon. Easier to leave in the morning.” I can’t fathom being in that room longer than necessary.

 

“Right. Well… I guess I will read Hermione’s letter. I’m sure that will be a pleasant experience.”

 

He moves to pick up his trunk and I idly kick myself for being so weak and pathetic. He glances me curiously before walking away and I prepare for an awkward night. Why must everything always be so complicated where he’s involved? I wait a beat after he’s in the bedroom before moving that direction. I tap the door before entering and try to appear unfazed as I enter. He smiles at me easily before sitting on the bed, note in hand. I move to the wardrobe and open it to find a towel, pajamas and full ensemble matching the one I’m currently wearing. I pull all of the items out and turn toward the bathroom. Harry is watching me from the bed, where he’s propped with pillows. He smiles at me nervously, looks at the towel in my hands and blushes. He looks to Hermione’s letter, fidgets with it and chews the inside of his mouth. Forgetting this would be much easier were he not so transparent. 

 

“I’ll be quick. Then I’m going to sleep. I need to be back at Hogwarts by six.”

 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t think… that’s… REALLY early!”

 

“Yes, perhaps I should have just said that instead of repeatedly saying I needed to get back.”

 

He stops smiling and shakes his head. He looks to the bed cover. “I’m sorry. You’ve been amazing today, thank you for everything. I know I’m not very convenient.”

 

Seven hells and Merlin’s mercy. “It’s nothing, Harry. It isn’t your fault.”

 

“You really don’t have to stay. It’s kind of silly for me to ask on top of everything else I’ve asked of you today.”

 

“I don’t mind, any of it. There are much worse ways I spend my days.” 

 

He nods and smiles weakly down at the comforter. “Even that’s kind of my fault.” 

 

I’m stunned. Is that really how he feels? 

 

I move around the side of the bed, drop my belongings at the foot of it, and brace myself on the post near Harry’s head. I look a very surprised Harry directly in the eyes and use my best admonishing tone on him. “The position I am in is no ones fault but my own. I simply use it for the greatest benefit I can. I do my what I can to make the best of a bad situation. The fact that more often than not it is to your benefit is correlation, not causation. None of this, none of the things that have happened to you, nor any of the people you care about, nor myself, is your fault. Please, don’t ever say anything like that to me ever again, and never blame yourself for anything in regards to me.” 

 

He merely stares at me blankly, then slowly, a sly smile creeps into his expression. “Did you just say please?” 

 

I want to be angry at him for ruining the gravity of the moment, but I'm too happy to see that cheeky smile again. I don’t want to care about whether or not he smiles, my job was to keep him alive as long as necessary, nothing more. But the job seems to be changing and with it, my view on the subject matter. I can tell myself I don’t care, and I honestly don’t want to, but the truth is that I do. When I’m with him, when I look at him, it’s impossible not to, nothing else matters. All the reasons to keep my distance still make sense and it’s all still there, the guilt and my baggage, but it doesn’t matter. The instant that I look at him, I’m lost, and I’d do anything to keep him from hurting. I’ll never deserve him, never deserve even the simplicity that is the joy of seeing him smile, but that doesn’t matter. This is for him, if this is what it takes to give him some miniscule amount of happiness before suffering his undeserved fate, then faults be damned. 

 

“I did. So you know I’m serious. Please, don’t blame yourself. Also, if you please, I’m going to have a shower and then go into the next room and collapse in exhaustion. You are all much too… much.” 

I turn to leave without looking back or waiting for a response. This isn’t what I wanted, but Gods does it feel good to stop trying. To see him smile and know it’s because of me, it’s like a drug. A euphoria washes over me and before I reach the threshold to the bathroom, I am smiling too. I glance him out of the corner of my eye as I close the door and he’s still smiling after me. But there’s more to his features than his usual cheek. I see some measure of mischief, maybe a knowingness that feels dangerous to examine too closely. It gives me the urge to wink which is something I am quite certain I have never done. I close the door, wave my wand to close the other and turn on the shower. Once it’s going I take a deep breath and exhale slowly before removing my robe and hanging it on a hook on the back of the door. I remove layer after layer folding them and setting them at the edge of the tub after realizing Harry’s possessions still take up most of the counter space. I’m walking to the shower when a knock at the door scares me nearly out of my skin. I look frantically about for my towel and stammer.

 

“Uh- er!”

 

The door opens, to my horror, before I can even scramble for my wand.

“Sorry. You left all of your stuff.”

He drops all of it when he steps in and sees me with nothing but my hands covering my privates. He goes crimson and turns around quickly.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Well then get out!”

“Why’d you tell me to come in?!”

“I did no such thing!”

“You said ‘enter' I heard you!”

“I did not!”

“You did too!”

“Well now I’m telling you to get out!” 

“Alright! I’m sorry!” 

“It’s… fine! Just go!”

He turns and practically runs from the room slamming the door behind him. I think I catch one last quick sorry and I scurry for my wand to lock the doors and straighten out the dropped articles. My heart thunders in my chest and I mutter, “Bloody hell,” as I lean against the tub. I spare a moment to consider the state of my luck before climbing into the shower.

Like most shower heads, it’s too low and I have to stoop slightly to let the spray soothe away the worst of my embarrassment. I sigh exasperatedly and wonder how I’ll face him again… before remembering that several hours ago, I saw nearly as much of him. In terms of unexpected sights, I got the much better deal. I wonder if he’s thought of it in those terms yet. Probably not, that’s just not the way his brain works. He’s probably worried I’m mad at him or some other ridiculous thing. I ponder how I was ever mad at him before. How I ever managed to be cruel to him, how I wasn’t always drawn to him. He’s flawless, in nearly every imaginable way. Kind, considerate, funny. And while it wasn’t intentional, I’ll never forget the sight of him in that bed. It was, perhaps, one of the best things that has ever happened to me. There’s a stirring in my lower abdomen that I haven’t felt in longer than is probably healthy and I have to work to try and deny it. Of all the inappropriate things I have given into today, I’ll not make wanking in the shower to the thought of a nearly naked former student one of them. I pick up the body wash and examine it. This was one of Dumbledore's favorite things, body wash that keys itself to the user, giving everyone their own personal scent. I squeeze some into my hand and it instantly fills the room with the scent of cedar and clove. He gave me some of this as a gift some years ago. I took it as a bad joke in relation to the oil I keep in my hair for the sake of my potions work until I actually used it. Marvelous lather, and strong enough to knock the smell of anything off. I can’t remember if I ever told Albus how much I liked it… there. No more thinking about Harry. In fact, best to stop thinking altogether. I finish my ablutions as quickly as possible and towel off just as fast. I dress in the pajamas the wardrobe provided and spell my clothes to the futon. I glance my reflection and walk to the living room where I don’t find Harry but I do find the fire nearly out. I tap the mantle with my wand and several logs fall into place and begin crackling loudly. I stand awkwardly for a moment, considering my options before walking to the bedroom door. 

 

He quietly invites me to come in and I find him sitting on the edge of the bed looking down sadly at a piece of paper. Gods, I can’t handle anymore tonight. 

“I was just coming to tell you I’m going to sleep.”

He nods. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t look up from the paper or say anything else.

“Merlin’s sake, what does it say?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing bad. She just says that they’re ready to go whenever I want them back. It just… makes me feel bad. That she would put it that way. As if I did this because I don’t want them.”

“It’s been a long day. She probably didn’t write that from the most level headed of places. They’ll forgive you and understand.”

He nods again but continues not to look up. “I’ve got to get some sleep, Harry.”

He looks at me and grins. “Me too. Sorry I kept you up so late.” 

I dip my head in his direction and leave the room. I leave the door open for heat and walk with heavy legs to the least comfortable looking contraption I’ve ever seen. I set about flattening it out, and it seems adamant on not budging. I pull my wand from my waistband and magic it flat then pick the ratty blanket up from where it fell and pooled on the floor. Looking around I discover a lack of pillows. Sighing, I trudge back to Harry's room and walk in with a tap on the doorframe, then sincerely regret not giving more notice. He stands in front of his trunk, pajama bottom clad, they appear to be slightly large. They hang low on his hips, from behind my eyes are drawn immediately to the waistband, just below dimples to either side of his tailbone, which is my favorite possible feature on a well muscled man. His broad shoulders tense in surprise and he turns to face me, making no move to cover his midriff, though his whole body blushes once more. 

“I just… looking for pillows.” My tongue feels numb and too large for my mouth. I walk into the room and open the wardrobe, which provides two pillows of my liking, then close it back. “Sorry.”

“No worries. Nothing you haven’t already seen.” 

I stop dead on my way out of the room. I look at him and that cheeky smirk is back. He’s deeply flushed, but stands confidently with his hands on his hips. 

 

“Yes well, whose fault was that?”

 

“Well, I’d blame myself but you told me I wasn’t to do so for anything involving you anymore.”

 

While he’s talking, he turns back to his trunk and bends to search for a shirt, I presume. The blood rushes from my head so quickly I feel faint, but find I am quite unable to look away. It’s like he’s putting on a show, as if he’s doing this on purpose…

Wait.

 

“On that note, sorry again for barging in on you.” He straightens up and turns to face me as he puts on his shirt. When he puts his arms up over his head and his abdomen extends, I lose my thought. He’s too thin, I could count his ribs, but he’s still well built. Roughing it and quidditch have done wonderful things to his body. Someone should paint him. He’s Harry Potter, someone probably will. “I honestly thought you said to come in. And I thought you’d realize anytime and come back for your things. Then I heard the shower start and well… sorry.”

 

“Things happen. Hopefully you’re not too mentally scarred.” 

 

“No! Not at all! I mean… it wasn’t bad. Not it, but you, you weren’t bad… better than not bad but not like… well I mean you looked good-not that I was looking! Or that I think you’re… or that I thought of you… oh bollocks.” He claps a hand over his mouth at the last, most unfortunate turn of phrase.

 

I quickly go from humiliated to amused. I’ve never seen anyone so easily put foot in mouth so frequently. I can’t help the laughter that comes over me. Between the late hour and his ridiculous train of thought, I find myself overcome with it. He joins in and I wipe the tears from my eyes.

 

“Oh Merlin… goodnight, Harry.”

 

“Goodnight, Severus.” 

 

I note the familiarity and am surprised to find that it feels natural. I glance him and nod before exiting and pad to the couch. It’s really quite chilly and I find myself regretting that I can’t simply get in bed with him to share warmth. Absurd. Deplorable. Tempting. Once settled I find myself replaying the events of the longest, strangest day I have had in some time. I stare up at the chandelier, watching the flames there dance and consider the emotional rollercoaster my new found desire for Harry has been. I’ve experienced more emotionally today than I have in over a year. Everything since that night on the tower has been a bleak, drunken, guilty blur. I had hoped to be dead before too long. The only thing keeping me alive, my final promises to Dumbledore. Now… now I have him. For how long, I can't be sure, but he's here, and we’re directly involved. It gives the whole war perspective. I feel true meaning again. His happiness and safety are paramount and, for the time being, my responsibility. A year ago, I would have loathed the prospect. After today… I wish I could stay in this hole and never leave. Ride out the end of the world together and keep him safe. I flick out the light and watch the light from Harry’s room dance across the ceiling. 

Why him? After all of these years, with little to nothing in the way of romantic interest, why him? I don’t want this. I don’t want anything to do with it. Even if it wasn’t him, I wouldn’t want it. It’s incredibly inconvenient, dangerous in my position, reckless. Unlike me in every way. I’ve had flings, the longest of which lasted a month and ended horrifically, but none of them have ever come close to inducing this state of emotional disarray. I want to let it go, to walk away. But it’s impossible with him encouraging it. And he certainly seems to be doing just that. How to deny him anything, when his destiny is to face such strife and die before ever truly beginning to live? But then why must he choose me, the only person who knows of his fate? How can I possibly justify this? Maybe I can just encourage him in a different direction, push him off onto someone else. But who? The only person I know to be interested is the werewolf. Just the thought boils my blood. What twisted game is he playing? Whatever it is, I’ll not let Harry get sucked into it. He's too kind, too pure. I won’t let him be used in love and in life. His light goes out and I close my eyes. But all I can see is his face, his eyes, that impossible hair. And that skin. Pale, smooth, and so easily flushed. The sparsest smattering of hair across his well muscled chest and trailing down from his navel, disappearing below that loose and tattered waistband. And Gods, those dimples on his lower back. It’s as if he was made for me, his every feature designed to entice me. Even his legs, long and lean and well shaped. When I moved him under the covers, my chest pressed against his, my arms wrapped around his thighs, his hair tickling my cheek and breath on my neck. I’d been too busy trying to avoid my feelings for him before to fully appreciate the moment, but now, in retrospect, safely alone in the dark, my sex starved mind and body are transported back there. All too eager to take full advantage of the evidently meticulously cataloged details of Harry Potter’s glorious body. There isn’t much harm in it… he’s in another room, likely asleep. I sigh deeply, I’m not proud of this… but who could resist all the temptation I’ve been presented today? It’s too late to argue with myself anyway. My body’s eager to give in to desire it’s been denied the better part of the day. 

 

I think of the moment we arrived here, the contrast between his hair and the snow, how his eyes seemed to glow. The electricity between us, radiating from his hand on my arm. When I caught him looking at my lips. The thrill the realization of his desires had sent through me. My momentary desire to let him know he wasn’t alone, to tell him everything was alright and tilt his chin up; to take another glimpse of those shimmering, shy emeralds before closing my own eyes and sampling that forbidden fruit. I’m hard just at the thought of kissing him, though I suppose the temptations of the day might have helped. I slide my hand below the waistband of my pajamas and underwear and run it down the length of my erection slowly. This still feels wrong, to give in to this illicit craving, but I’m only human, it’s been so long and he’s beyond tantalizing. Thinking of him splayed out across the bed, his hip bones protrudent and belly concave between, an area I’d like to taste. I imagine nuzzling the hairs there, hands on firm thighs, musky sandalwood scent filling my nostrils. I grip myself tightly and start moving slowly. I hadn’t taken advantage of him or too closely examined below that fascinating area earlier, but my curiosity and libido have full reign of my imagination now. He's naturally long and lithe, I’m sure he's like that in every way. And he’s so eager, he’s all action, and emotion. Not the type to over think or be stuck in his head in the moment. He’d be so responsive, so receptive to every sensation. I’m pumping faster now, and close at the thought of what sounds might come out of that well shaped mouth, what sighs of pleasure or moans of ecstasy could I wring out of him with meticulous, gratifying torture. How sensitive are his inner thighs? How much would he writhe if I ran my tongue up from there, to his most private of areas, worked my way down from the tip of a long, slender cock with tongue alone, around the base and through the hairs there, to lather tight, full testicles in saliva before taking them in my mouth? Would he buck or arch into me? Would he groan-

“Nnnrgh!”

 

My eyes spring open. Had I imagined that? I’m listening closely, hand still gripping my throbbing, weeping erection. It’s hard to hear over the sound of my heart pounding but I try nonetheless. I think I can hear heavy breathing… is it just my own? I tuck myself against my waistband and try to push the anticipation of orgasm away. I sit up slowly and put my feet on the ground. Listening closely I hear more muffled whimpers and heavy breathing. This doesn’t sound like the product of what I've just been doing. I snatch my wand up off the floor and flick the chandelier above me back to life while rushing to his room. The light from the living room spills across him, he's kicked the covers onto the floor and is tangled in his over sized pajamas. He’s sweat soaked and is features are scrunched as if in revulsion. His hands cover his scar and he writhes as if trying to escape it. The sound of groans and whimpers far too similar to what I've just been fantasizing wake me from my stunned examination and I rush to his side from the doorway. He’s turned toward me and I grab his shoulder to shake him. 

“Harry? Harry! Wake up!”

He moans loudly and tries to evade my grip. I sit on the edge of the bed now that he’s on his back and grasp him by both shoulders to shake him.

“Harry!” I yell it, loudly, this time. “Wake up, Harry!”

He startles awake and gasps. He reflexively grabs hold of my forearms and seems to need a moment to realize who I am and where we are. When he comes to terms with it, his wide, emerald eyes fill with horror and tears. He sits up rapidly and wraps his arms around my neck, pressing against me with his full weight. I have no ability to resist, so I give in and wrap my arms around his waist. He’s holding me tightly so I return the hold in kind, pulling him further against me. He might as well be sitting in my lap. It feels marvelous, though concern taints the moment.

“What’s the matter, Harry, what’s happened?”

He takes a deep shuddering breath against my neck. “He has Luna.”

I freeze. “I thought you said the connection was gone.”

“I thought it was. I don’t know, I still think it is. I don’t think he can use it… or… I don’t know. I just don’t think he meant for me to see…” he trails off and shudders again and I feel moisture against my neck.

 

In this moment, I don’t care if Voldemort knows. I hold him close and instinctually, my hand goes to his hair and I begin to stroke. Blame it on what I’ve just been doing but a surge of protectiveness and possession comes over me. I only want to take the hurt away from my Harry. 

 

“It’s alright. We can help her. And it doesn’t matter if he can see, you’re okay, we’ll keep you safe.”

 

He actually sobs and I’m terrified to ask what he’s seen. Not because I’m afraid to know as well, but because I don’t want to know that he knows. He’s seen more than I could ever want him to already today, I don’t want it added to. I want to protect him from as much as possible. Suddenly, I’m angry. Harry doesn’t deserve this pain. He doesn’t deserve to have this done to him.

“You can talk about it if you want to. You can tell me.”

I stroke his hair and hold his waist tightly as he collects himself. I’m proud of how quickly he does so. I don’t know what he’s seen, but I know what Voldemort is capable of and I know most good people would have difficulty coping with the experience. 

 

“He was using cruciatus. On Luna. For no reason. She doesn't know anything, he knows that she doesn't know. He was telling her that he was going to kill her dad if she didn't lead me to them. She cried but… she told them her dad would rather be dead, and so would she.” 

 

He’s loosened his hold, fingers laced together around the back of my neck, his forehead resting against my collarbone. I cradle the back of his head with one hand, my other rests on his lower back. I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe, to keep him from that loss, but how do I protect him from himself? How do I keep him from going after her?

 

“He wanted to see me. I’m sure this is why. I’ll get her away from them, Harry. I’ll figure out a way. It will be alright.” 

 

“How do you do this? How do you live like this?”

 

Lupins words and my own convictions ring in my ears. That he doesn't belong here, with me, in my arms. That he needs to be far away from everything I am, my dark, tainted being. My stomach sours slightly and I begin to pull away.

 

“You’re so brave. I wish I could be more like you.” 

My heart and breath freeze. 

“Never say that.”

“It’s true. You’re incredible. You could have seen everything I’ve just seen and barely batted an eye.”

“That isn’t because I’m brave.”

“Maybe not. But you’re brave because of what that’s come from. You’re brave for what you use that for.”

“You still should not wish to be more like me.”

“Why not.”

“Because who you are is perfect.”

The statement is transparent. I should not have said it, but I wanted to. 

He pulls me closer. He needed to hear it. I slide my hand from his head to the base of his neck. I don't want to cover anything up in this moment. He needs this. I do too.

“You said I needed to learn to hide my emotions.”

“Yes, hide them, but still feel.”

“… Are you saying you don't… feel anything?” He’s holding his breath.

 

My heart skips several beats. I slide my fingers up into the bottom of his hairline on his neck. “Not usually, no. I haven’t in a long time.” 

 

He lifts his head and looks at me. I meet his eye steadily. He opens his mouth to speak and suddenly my arm feels as though it’s been set on fire, a sensation I have become quite used to, though it takes me by surprise and I gasp. I pull my hand from the back of his head and grasp the mark. He pales slightly. 

This is awkward.

“He's summoning you?”

I nod and stand. “Likely all of us.” Hopefully. If not… “I have to get dressed and go quickly.” I'm sorry to. I quite liked the direction that was headed. And surely, after this, he won’t want to be anywhere near me. Such a reminder of all that is wrong in his life. As long as he’s safe and happy until… his time. I hate it. I hate his undeserved fate. I look at his lovely face, still puffy and red from crying, turned down to the floor, and hate it even more. “Harry.” He meets my eye warily. He hates me. “If I don’t come back by midday…” fear fills his features. 

 

“If you…” he doesn’t finish his statement. But stares at me blankly.

I continue. “IF I don’t come back, floo to Remus' cabin. I’ll get word to him that if you don’t fire call by then that he should expect you. And… IF I don’t come back. It isn’t your fault, Harry.”

He's been looking at me blankly through everything I’ve said, when I finish his eyes fill with sentiment and he rushes forward to wrap his arms around my neck again. He’s just the right height, his head’s squarely in the center of my chest, tucked under my chin. I’m surprised. Come face to face with what I am, having witnessed the grizzly scene I am likely being summoned to, and still. I wrap my arms back around him hesitantly, loosely, and in protest he pulls himself closer to me.

“Please, come back.” 

 

“I’ll do what I can. Obviously.” I’m trying to lighten the mood, an attempt at joking. He’s having none of it. He squeezes closer still and I can feel him holding his breath again. “I’m almost certain I’ll be back, Harry. It’s just… always best to be prepared.”

He nods. “I don’t ever want to have to prepare for… that.”

This strikes a chord within me. I can certainly relate. “And yet you must.” I begin to extricate myself. He searches my face for something I can’t quite understand and let’s me go. 

I turn and stride from the room, I sit on the futon to put on my shoes, I collect the fresh clothing the wardrobe provided from beside it and leave the old. When I turn and see him, he’s very obviously distressed and shifts restlessly, as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. I want to comfort him, want to continue what we started. But I couldn’t let something so precious be tainted in memory by a situation like this. I move toward him and squeeze his shoulder. “I’ll do everything I can to get back here. No matter what.”

He nods and breathes deeply. I walk past him toward the stairs and look at him as I ascend them. He’s watching me uncertainly. I stop, I feel the need to say something heartening before I go but I can think of nothing. 

“Be safe.” He says it.

“You too.” I pull my eyes off of him and rush up the stairs and out the door before I can change my mind. I’m terrified to go to Him. More so than usual. I don’t want this to be the end, I don’t want to leave so much unsaid to Harry, I’d like to taste that happiness. I’ve never known anything even close to the promise of it, never come so close to truly caring and evidently, being cared for. But there’s nothing to suggest I’m truly heading toward danger. He told me he wanted me to persuade Luna to do just what Harry was talking about. I’m sure it will be… fine. As fine as a summoning can be. I take a deep breath and pull out my wand. To Hogwarts for my mask, then to Him. Clear your mind. There’s nothing to worry about, nothing to hide because there’s nothing to know. Do what you must. Nothing more, nothing less. I prepare for the uncomfortable experience of apparating, and leave my true self behind as I magic away to an uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, let me know if you'd prefer a Harry p.o.v. next or if you just want me to keep it movin. :)


	9. No Rest for the Wicked

I land beyond the gates at Malfoy Manor short of breath, but mind cleared. I have a job to do, a person to be. It wouldn’t do to lose sight of that persona now. And it isn’t so hard to slip into, as it wasn’t so long ago that I truly was that person. I can do this. It's a few miserable, dangerous hours, then back to reality. I approach the gate and it swings open for me without being touched. They keyed me to their wards at the beginning of Draco’s sixth year after I made the unbreakable vow. I’m forever waiting to approach and be denied entry but it seems today is not that day. I stride past, moving faster now. It took me much too long to arrive, between struggling to leave our hole, apparating to Hogwarts a change of clothes, sending the message via patronus (dangerous but beyond my control) and apparating here, it’s been nearly fifteen minutes. I’m certain I’ll be the last to arrive. I prepare for my punishment, pray my ideas for Luna appease him somewhat and try not to worry about why he called this meeting. The front door swings open as well and I find a gathering of the wizarding worlds most revolting people, packed in like sardines, in different bored stances. I see no Voldemort. Bellatrix, lounging on the Malfoys oversized foyer mantle directly before me, meets my eye and sneers exaggeratedly.

“Kind of you to join us, Snivelly.”

“Bella.” She hates for anyone other than her sister and Him to call her that. It’s the most retort I’m allowed. As His second favorite pet, sub par treatment by anyone is not allowed. I stride forward to allow the door to swing shut behind me and stop just beyond its range of motion.

“Severus.” Lucius’ pompous drawl trickles like a cold current down my spine and a chill follows. I turn to where he’s lurking, in a corner beside where his over sized double doors stand, and find Narcissa and Draco along side him. Draco has not looked at me in quite the same way since that night on the tower. A mixture of wonder and revulsion, though I don’t believe I imagined the several instances in which I saw intrigue in his too long lingering gaze. The idea is repulsive. Even if he wasn’t Lucius' son, I find his pale skin, eyes and hair eerie. His personality is nearly as interesting as watching paint dry and he’s more child than man, for all that he struts. 

“Hello, Lucius, Narcissa. Draco.” Draco does not meet my eye or otherwise acknowledge the greeting, which I find odd. The last several times I’ve seen him, even in the halls of the school, he’s actively sought out my attention. Though once he had it he seemed unsure of what to do with it. 

“Draco, would you be so kind as to go and find Greyback? Tell him that the Dark Lord will be needing him in short order.” 

Draco's eyes grow wide and he looks at me apprehensively before rushing from the room. I don’t watch him go, I meet Lucius’s indifferent gaze, curious to see whether that was meant to alarm me or if he’s otherwise searching for a response from me. I remain calm and give none. 

“Impressive as your foyer is Lucius, I’m sure we’ve all seen more than enough of it in recent days. Considering my tardiness, I rather thought I’d find myself interrupting the purpose of our summons.” 

“Yes, you’re quite lucky in that regard. The Dark Lord ordered the summons and was then distracted by some inconvenience or another with our guests downstairs.” 

This gives me no more confidence in terms of requiring the werewolf but I remind myself to breathe and keep my plan to deal with Luna at the forefront of my mind. 

“It must be terribly unpleasant for you. That creature and the blood traitor filth living in your home.”

I didn’t think it possible but Narcissa's nose turns further upward. Lucius folds his hands before his lap. “Mm. Yes. Though you’ll find living can be a loose term. Ollivander certainly knows that.”

We both chuckle and my ears ring. This takes a toll, I’m already exhausted and this is nothing. It’s worse every time. 

He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s not much longer. Our Lord is making short work of this so called ‘war'. Potter won’t hide forever, surely he grows tired of watching others die in vain. After he shows himself, the cleanup begins and we enter our glorious new age, the pests in the basement among the first in line for extermination. And… not to spoil the fun for you but… the creature won’t even make it that far.” He leans in to whisper this conspiratorially and my stomach quivers from combination of the smell of him, all expensive tea and anxiety, as well as the terrible news. They intend to kill Griphook? I had thought that they needed him for leverage with the other goblins at Gringotts? Something must have changed. Unfortunate as it is, I won't be able to save him from this fate nor use him for my own plans. This will put a kink in things, to say the least. But there’s no helping it.

“It is long over due, in my opinion. The Dark Lord has shown him much greater mercy than he has earned.”

“So He seems to believe as well. I do not suspect a quick end for him.” Lucius smirks as he speaks. “It is quite an honor our Lord has bestowed upon Greyback, to lay out justice in his name. Considering what he is…”

“What he is, is a faithful follower, a loyal friend and a dutiful servant.” My heart palpitates and my tongue turns to ash. I turn slowly to face man-made-monstrosity and calm my runaway heart. I find Draco, Fenrir and Bella behind him. Draco looks disdainfully at the ground, arms across his chest, and seems more morose by the second, Bellatrix looks grave and murderous. “Severus, I do hope you can forgive the interruption to your evening. There's been a change of plans that I had hoped to discuss with you before this night. I know you have a busy schedule today and your evenings are filled with hurried rendezvous of late…” Bellatrix half snickers, half gags and Draco flushes lightly before shooting her a reprehensive glance from the corner of his eye. That settles it. The boy has an infatuation with me as well. How perfectly horrific. “Now, Bell. Just because he isn’t your type. He is quite classically roguish. Tall, dark, imposing. Rather unforgettable. Especially that nose.” His presence has gathered my fellow Death Eaters and his last statement provokes chuckles. I'd be angry if I wasn’t so terrified. Something’s wrong, I can feel some tense electricity dancing on my skin. Whether it’s excitement or danger I cannot say, but it can't be good. I smile benignly and clasp my hands beneath the oversized sleeves of my outer robe. 

“Of course not my Lord. Nothing could ever be more important than you or our cause.” 

He grins and reveals his reptile sharp teeth. I gently swallow bile reflux that threatens at the sight. 

“Always charming. Ever so loyal and brave. I would quite like to meet whomever would be so marvelous as to impress someone as magnificent as you.” 

Bellatrix rolls her eyes and huffs, Draco looks up sadly from the floor. He meets my eye then looks away quickly in a moody pout. 

Perish the thought of a reuniting, though it is inevitable. “Merely physical, my Lord. My heart is yours.” 

“I should never have hoped to insinuate anything less. Only that someone has managed to gain your attention, though I must ask to retain the majority of it for what I believe comes next, as your bravery, loyalty and brilliant mind will be crucial. If you would, a word in private Severus.” 

He turns and the others scramble out of his way. His bare feet clap lightly on the highly polished stone floors and it brings to mind a memory of very different feet earlier in the evening. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions come over me. It feels something like the onset of panic and I hurriedly shut it down before it can over take me. Not here. Not now. He strides for a door to the left of the fireplace where Bellatrix had lounged and it helps to calm me as I know this to be the doorway to a tea room. He won’t murder me in private over tea, he’d make a spectacle of it. As we walk through a field of cronies, I pass Fenrir to my left and he grabs my arm to stop me. He looks me over, inspecting me, and sniffs a handful of the front of my robes. Merlin help me, Albus's ridiculous soap! I changed my clothing, surely he can’t smell him? I remember how strongly the place had smelled of him, how overpowering it had seemed to me. I’d just been holding him, how did I not think of this?! But surely Fenrir doesn’t know his smell specifically? I can pass this off.

“You smell… different.” 

“Let go of me, now, or you’ll regret it.” I belay all of the calm and command I wish I felt. He does as I say but looks at me suspiciously and snarls.

“Calm yourself, Fenrir. I noticed it as well but scent him again and I’m sure you’ll find exactly what I found. He smells the same, simply brighter. I thought perhaps his new friend is to thank for the change. Maybe this is more than physical, Severus? Or at the very least, more than merely so. It does seem to have had great effect on you.”

Sniggers again and my stomach clenches. “If I am happy my Lord, it is due exclusively to your looming victory and the wizarding worlds ultimate justice.” 

He beams and takes in the motley horde around us. “You laugh at this man. Some of you mock him and doubt him. And yet, he always has the right answer, has been loyal to me beyond my questioning for twenty years, I have trusted him with my life and safety since my return and have never found him lacking, which is much more than I can say for most of you. Snicker if you must. Mock if you will. It means nothing to him, or me. If you wish to appear wise or begin to matter, you might instead take notes.” 

A chaste hush steals over the gathering and I straighten my robes before glancing at Greyback. He looks nervously at Voldemort, who turns his back on us. As he begins moving for the door again, Fenrir stares daggers at me before moving to Bellatrix’s side. Draco gives me a sickeningly doe eyed look as I pass him then scurries to his father behind me. The rest of the Death Eaters steer clear of me entirely as I make my way after our Lord. That is the first time I believe he has ever defended me, and much worse has happened in the past than a few chuckles at allusion to my love life. His behavior is odd. Too airy and bright. He is usually cold, focused and severe. Today he seems almost… chipper. It can’t be good. As I cross the threshold to the Malfoys tea room I am more anxious than I had been in Fenrir's clutches. Whatever he is about to unveil to me is already a plan in action. Papers litter every one of many available surfaces. There are endless stacks of thick, ancient tombs throughout the room. As I pass by to one of two available dining chairs (a couch, two loveseats and three armchairs are filled with various studies, scrolls and texts) round a tea table stacked high as well, I note several are not in any language I recognize. I wait to be invited to sit as he strides to the window at the far side of the room. He waves his wand and I assume sets several privacy spells, then stares distantly at the lights spread throughout the Malfoy’s grounds. I must remind myself once again to breathe. A long moment passes in which I try to decipher the language on a crumbling, age stained scroll beneath a paper weight beside me before deciding to break the silence.

“You flattered me earlier, my Lord. To hear such kind words spoken of ones self by someone so divine. I fear I was in shock and I humbly request your forgiveness at not having thanked you immediately.” 

“You’ve no need to request forgiveness, Severus. I meant every word.” He does not turn from the window nor look at my reflection therein as he speaks. “I am not one for sentimentality as you well know, but I feel I owe you a gratitude I am uncertain of how to repay. It occurred to me several days ago that nearly every plan I do not include you in fails. It seems my genius alone is not enough, I need someone of near mental equivalency to carry out the brilliance of my schemes when I am unable to do so myself.” He turns to face me at last and there is a frightening gleam to his eye, like a predator preparing for the chase. I question my safety once more. “You see Severus, there are some things I have to do myself, and there are things I should do myself, and there is a never ending demand for my knowledge and expertise in between and very few whom I trust in my stead. Bella and I are very like minded though I fear we are not at all matched in mental prowess. Lucius is… intelligent enough. But his priorities are confused. It goes on like that, with no one left who is quite right to act on my behalf in the matters I should attend myself but am unable to. No one except for you.” 

I feel as if I’m standing in a cold mist. I am actually chilled to the bone. “Sir… I am honored… but-”

“If I thought anything of your expected neurosis I never would have broached the subject. You are more than capable of what I ask. You and I… we are more alike than we are not. We are self sufficient. Calculating. Skilled in everything magic and otherwise. The only real difference between us is that I am a natural leader and you are content to follow. And that is all I ask of you. Follow my command, and lead in my stead, because what I am about to tell you will demand my absence and my absence demands a leader be made of you.” He stands before me now, having crossed the room while speaking and he looks at me intently. “You must be ruthless. They’ll do as I tell them, but tolerate nothing. The majority of them are expendable, and those who are not will be no problem, but the others… tolerate nothing. Anyone who presents a problem disrespects me. There is no room for that in the future we're building. And it is we. Our cause would not have advanced so without you. If I had had you for the entire duration of my first rise, we would be in a very different place.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and I barely repress a shudder. “You are the only choice, Severus. I will not take no for an answer.” 

“It is an honor, sir. Beyond measure or words. What of Hogwarts, though?”

“I believe you can handle both jobs. Things should continue as they have been. As you know, currently our main priorities are finding blood traitors as well as recruitments. Dolores and our other friends at the Ministry are doing an exemplary job of that and doling out tasks to the others. But there is someone who remains elusive in spite of our best efforts, whom I think I should have had you seeking out all along.”

My face feels numb. “Harry Potter.”

“Indeed, and I know this is a sensitive subject for us. Dear Lily's fate was out of my hands, you must understand. She simply would not step aside.”

“It was out of your control. She was exceedingly stubborn.” Too stubborn to leave, too stubborn to run. But if she had, then what?

“Such a shame. She was very pretty. I know you can’t fully appreciate such things, considering your predisposition, but she was something to behold for those looking. Nevertheless, it was out of my control. Mores the pity, as it seems to have been for nothing, but I am still very pleased that it changed nothing between us.”

“Never, my Lord. Nothing could.” 

“I know it. Yet another reason you are the only choice. Your dedication to our cause is truly beyond compare. And I know I can trust you to make the right choices while I'm away. Which brings me to the next important matter I wished to discuss with you.” I can barely hear above the ringing in my ears but I nod in acknowledgment anyway. This anxiety attack is barely being kept at bay. “I must ask that you keep this between the two of us. Bella of course knows because she will be coming with me, but under no circumstance does anyone else need to know or hear anything about this. You see, it's not enough to be this,” he gestures across himself with a bone thin, elongated hand, “forever. Even if I were my original self, it would not be enough. There is so much more that magic has to offer to those who are deserving.” He turns to the table beside us and lifts a hand palm up. Several books levitate and rearrange themselves in another stack. One floats toward Voldemort and settles in his hand. It's moderately smaller than most around us and in considerably worse shape, the front cover so badly worn out that it is illegible. He turns it to show me the spine and the tattered text there. I recognize the old English AVEER to be TRAVELS, stitched into the binding, this indicating that it could possibly be hundreds of years old.

“It all started with this. A simple journal. I found it in a blood traitors house long ago, before I ever met you. I thought it interesting at a glance and when I opened it, saw it was written exclusively in old English. I considered it tedious to translate the whole thing when for all I knew it was simply an ancient diary. And then on the front cover I saw something written in modern English.” He turns the book toward me and opens the cover, indicating with his finger where to look. 

Just two words, Barry Winkle.

My mind immediately jumps into chaos, but the academic in me begins dissecting possibilities and is excited at what such a journal might contain. The horror that he already knows what it contains and that it matters to him is there, but the thrill of discovery is present too. 

“Yes, I was speechless as well. He doesn’t talk about his past as you know. He lives only for the future. He has actually obliviated himself several times in order to do so. But he left journals and other things scattered in his wake, and this is the most important one. I asked the blood traitor what he knew of it and he said that it was his fathers, that he’d never even looked at it. But I had a sense already that this must be important and I couldn’t trust that he didn’t know what I might find in it’s pages. I had to kill him, his father was already dead. I've spent nearly every day since then translating it. It has been painstaking. But I finished nearly three months ago and have been preparing to travel since that time. I reveal to you my quest for one reason Severus, I need you to look over this research, comb through it and help me to see if there is anything I have missed. If you truly believe in my cause, believe in me, you will do this and help me to become more than I am. What is in this journal… there will be no stopping us if I find it. Ever. I will truly be eternal at long last. I will do more than live forever. This is my calling, I have lived as a god among men, and at long last I will truly be so. I will never die, I will travel through time and planes of existence, I will be undefeatable in battle, finally having in my hands the greatest weapon ever known. I will uncover what has been lost for millennia, and become more than the leader of this world, I will rule and be Lord of all worlds, this one and the next. And you will be my second in command, Severus. A near equal.” 

I barely repress a shudder. I’m at a loss for words, fear gripping my heart and stopping my breath. 

“Whatever you need, anything you ask.” I am amazed by how calm I sound.

He grins and places a bony hand on my shoulder. “I am so glad to hear you say that. You see, even Bella had reservations about this. She simply cannot comprehend the possibility, thinks I don’t need more than what I have. But you, I knew you would understand this to be my destiny. Few truly, fully comprehend my greatness, the majesty that is my being as you do. But they will be made to understand. I travel first to Mexico, revolting as the entire continent is. I will be leaving within the week, to give you time to prepare. I put out a mass calling today to inform the leaders of our troops. Soon I’ll alert the ministry to the shift in leadership in the field. As I said I don’t expect much will change anytime soon though, unless of course you find Potter. Do you have any idea where you might start?”

The shift throws me but I don’t have the luxury of showing it at risk of revealing my fear. “Actually, I do. It involves Luna. I thought the quickest way to use her to our advantage would not be to sway her loyalties but convince her that one of us shares them. As we did with Dumbledore.”

“However do you plan to do that?” 

“There are certain followers of yours-“

“Ours. Severus. They are yours now too.”

I’m becoming severely nauseated but I press on. “Yes, my Lord. Our followers. That will take some getting used to.”

He nods and gestures for me to continue.

“There are some… most, to be quite honest, who are too quick to kill. There’s information everywhere, in the most unexpected places, that given time could make itself known but even one death can ruin that. So, people who I believe might have some information of use I have allowed to remain hidden at Hogwarts from snatchers. For instance, Lavender Brown, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, all students who were under suspicion and due to be taken to the Ministry for inquisition whom I’ve decided pose no real threat and have allowed to remain at Hogwarts under observation in hopes that they would search for Potter themselves. And they have done exactly as I expected. They’ve band together and formed a sort of information chain. But they need Luna, as her father has the friendships and news sources they rely on. I would suggest… letting Luna go. I will attempt to convince her that we are on the same side, I’ll show her the paperwork I filed to keep those students and their families away from the Ministry. When the time is right, Harry will either come to the school or need their help, and I’ll be privy to that information. Or, they’ll gather information on his whereabouts from their sources and find him that way which will in turn lead us to him.”

“Genius, Severus. You were the only choice to lead our efforts at Hogwarts and I am so pleased it was you. You have a keen eye for the details. Most would overlook such a thing, Harry took his dearest friends with him, most would assume the others wouldn’t know anything of importance. But all together, I see your point. Of course you may do as you please. I was simply curious as to what your plan was. I trust your judgment.” 

“Thank you my Lord. To hear such words spoken by you, there is no greater feeling. And I am so happy know that I have pleased you.”

“And I am truly grateful that I have such a devoted friend as you.”

“My Lord, if I may be so bold as to ask, why are you leaving? What do you expect to find in Mexico?” 

“Not bold at all, I planned to tell you. Perhaps nothing more than clues, Severus, perhaps nothing at all. But all signs indicate I should begin there. Tell me Severus, how much do you know about, the Archaic Triad?”

“The Roman Gods?”

“Indeed, the oldest known, originally exclusively worshiped. But they were no Gods, they were wizards. Perhaps the first. Definitely the most powerful, everything started with them. There were no rules to govern their behavior, nothing telling them they couldn’t rule over muggles, no one monitoring the magic they used or prohibiting the creation of magical artifacts. The magic they used is the magic modern wizards have buried. But some things were lost even to those that would hide them before wizard kind at large decided to put down any that were born superior.”

I feel faint, my blood growing colder as he speaks. He doesn’t need to say anything else, I know what he seeks. It’s legend, as old as time, I doubt it’s even real, but if it is, if he finds it… all is lost. 

“I see you’ve already put things together. The pure awe in your expression is very much what I felt at the discovery. I had hoped that this would require little explanation, I thought that a person of your extensive knowledge would know all about the Tridecus and its capabilities. I still sometimes find myself marveling at this journal, the impact of its contents. To think that I might have passed it off as a relic, ignored it due to its ratty appearance. It has changed everything. The Tridecus, Severus!” I’ve never seen him behave in such a way. So frenzied and unbalanced. It’s clear to me that this has undone him, he’s completely deranged. “Lost for so long that it’s barely even a legend! Power beyond imagining,” he hands me the journal, turns and walks back toward the window. I let go of my breath and examine the fringes of the cloth covering it, “it boggles even my mind, the possibilities… even if you don’t find Harry, if I find the Tridecus, it won’t matter. Limitless power. The power of the Gods. Everything is about to change.” 

He is quiet and so am I. I’m barely grappling my anxiety now, pure evil has just confessed to me its plans to become unstoppable and asked me to rule in his place until he can return. What can I do? This is it, the point of no return and the fate of the world rides on my shoulders.

“I will need you in this Severus. The texts I’ve read that talk of their power, the artifacts… individually when used they required much sacrifice and power from any besides the original master. That’s before they were forged into one. There’s only one documented use of it since then, before its documentation ends and the wielder required countless amounts of human sacrifice to maintain his power and prevent the drain on his own. The Tridecus can be… temperamental when used with inadequate power, thus the fall of the Archaic Triad. I do not doubt my ability to sustain it but my initial use of it will require great efforts. I, of course, have planned for this but I would like to be absolutely sure. I trust you to double check every detail of my findings.” 

“So I shall.”

He turns back to me and smiles casually. “You can begin there. Before I leave I’ll make sense of this catastrophe for you.” He gestures broadly to the room and chuckles, “Narcissa is beside herself over the state of this place.” I smirk absently but his mind seems otherwise occupied, he’s too distracted to note my non-responses presently, he simply waves toward the door. “Go and join the others now. Live among them for the last time, send Bella and Fenrir in if you would. I’ve the matter of Griphook to discuss with them. And I might have a word with Fenrir about you. He may take a little more persuasion but I’m confident he’ll do as I say.” 

I nod and bow gently when he seems finished before turning gracefully and striding for the door. 

“Severus?”

I stop short and half turn back. I attempt casual curiosity when I speak. The damper on my nerves is wearing thin, I’m not sure I can make it through his announcement and whatever might come after. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Do hide that journal before you go out there.” I look to the offending item nervously and tuck it into an inner pocket on my robe before fastening it, hoping the faux pas doesn't reveal too much about my emotional state. “Also, on the subject of your new friend. When might we be meeting them?”

My stomach drops. All of it really was too good to be true. I can’t possibly maintain this schedule of disappearances, never introducing them, without rousing suspicions. “He is much too distracting to maintain a relationship with my Lord. This is no time to begin such a venture as that. I think one last evening will be the end of it.” 

“Very wise of you. I ask because I had thought you might say that, and if you’re interested, I know someone much closer to base and very trustworthy who has become rather interested in you.” 

Gods, please don’t press this issue. There are many things I can suffer through, but if he wishes me to consort with Draco… “Perhaps after you’ve retrieved the Tridecus. I intend to dedicate all of my being to this. I’ll have very little time and no energy for such frivolity.”

“As you wish, precious creature.” He smiles dotingly and I flush with disgust, luckily. “One last thing. I know you’ve a busy day so I’ll not ask that you stay for the announcement, you may take Luna and go. Her wand is in that drawer, beside you.” I nod my gratitude and he waves my dismissal a second time. I open the top drawer of an antique looking desk and find a wand and spare parchment and quills. After pocketing it beside the journal, I have to force myself not to run from him.

I pull the door shut behind myself slowly and quietly and scan the room for Bella and Fenrir as I do so. Most of the Death Eaters are rather drunk and especially rowdy, never mind that it’s not even seven in the morning yet. The place stinks of firewhisky and body odor and I imagine Narcissa is as near a breakdown as I. I spot Bella quickly enough, she never strays too far from Voldemort unless expressly ordered to do so. She’s in the middle of the room, surrounded by Snatchers whom I don’t know by name but can tell are trying desperately to impress her to curry favor with Him. She looks rather bored and irritated and spots me as soon as I see her. Its apparent she’s been waiting for me and pulls her wand out when I begin to move forward. She flicks her wrist and the crowd between us parts rapidly without warning causing the majority of them to spill their various drinks. A dull roar of disapproval sounds and she sneers and hisses at the nearest objectionable person. I take a moment to be thankful I won’t be seeing her for some time. She strides confidently forward, challenging me with her eyes and goading me with her smirk. The apparent party continues around us. 

“Have a nice chat, did you Snivvy?”

I suppose she knows everything I’ve just been told. No wonder she’s been especially spiteful towards me in recent days. “He has honored me, Bellatrix. I know you distrust me but as it is his will you cannot tarnish this for me. I will simply have to prove myself to you in this and then maybe, at long last, you can put your animosity toward me in the past.”

She creeps forward steadily, the smirk gone from her face, the challenge in her eyes solidified and cold. “Prove me wrong or die. I’ll never be too far away or too busy to kill you if my suspicions are proven facts.” She meets my gaze unflinchingly and I hers.

“I plan to live a long while under the greatest leader the Wizarding world will ever know. I’ll know the glory that is his rule and will be there, evidently, to rule alongside him. I will only die at your hand if it suits his cause or he commands it. Never because you desire it or through any wrong doing against him on my part. Sorry to disappoint you. But if you’re quite finished with senseless accusations and petty threats, he has requested your company and that of Fenrir’s. Do you know where he is?”

“No. I don’t. Be a good little servant and fetch though. We’ll be waiting, do try to hurry.” She runs her shoulder into my side as she passes me, giggling, and I scowl to the darkest of my abilities at her as she goes. 

Brushing off the encounter, I take in the room and it's contents once more. The absolute dregs of society, shoulder to shoulder, drunk and disorderly, loud and obnoxious, bordering on violent. And I’ll be inheriting all of it at the end of the week. I can’t think about it now, the more I think about it the closer I am to losing control. I need to just focus on the task at hand and get Luna and myself out of here. I begin to move through the assembly toward the front door, and it’s no easy task. I’m tempted to do as Bella did and simply force them aside with magic. Wading through their odors and testosterone serves to greatly exacerbate my irritable state. Nearly five minutes later in the middle of the room where Bella was, a body slams into me from behind. I spin around as intimidatingly as one can in such close quarters and find a blonde head turned opposite me. A rather filthy, only slightly older Snatcher eyes Draco, who backs against me in fear, greedily. 

“No rush, blondie, let’s get to know each other.” He advances on Draco, practically salivating, and Draco presses further into me. I put a steadying hand on his arm and the Snatcher looks at me angrily. 

“A rather rude way to treat our hosts son. Whoever you are, I would suggest you apologize and leave.”

“Just looking for a bit of fun. Poor bloke looks like he could use it. Whatcha say, little Malfoy, fancy a good time?”

Draco shakes his head adamantly and looks back over his shoulder at me. The Snatcher looks at me angrily and scoffs. “No matter. These high society types don’t have a clue anyway. Not like you and me right Severus?” He winks at Draco and staggers backward. “If you ever wanna learn a thing or two, look for ol' Marcus yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd and Draco turns around, moves an inch or so away and stares holes in my chest, blushing furiously.

“Do you know where your father is?” He nods. “Take me to him.” He looks in the direction of their dining room to the right of us. The doors now stand open and an assembly of people flood its entrance as well. I sigh exasperatedly and grab him by the hand to drag him through behind me. He can’t be left on his own in this company, I’ve no idea what his parents were thinking. His palm is lightly sweating, fingers trembling, he grips back tightly. I wonder briefly what else he’d been subjected to before he ran into me. I remember having been his age, coming to these same types of meetings, going through something incredibly similar, except there was no one with me to prevent the worst from happening. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze, pull him closer behind me and shove through the crowd more quickly. When we’re inside the dining room I see Lucius standing beside his bar, Fenrir standing beside him next to a door, listening to two other werewolves talking adamantly about something, Narcissa berates a house elf as it struggles to keep up with demand for drinks. I push through toward them with renewed vigor. When Lucius spots us he smiles frighteningly at our hands. 

“Severus! Whatever do you think you’re doing with my son?” He sets his drink down rather loudly and several conversations around us go quiet. 

“I-it isn’t what it looks like! …. Sir.” Draco wrenches his hand out of mine and side steps away from me toward his mother. 

Things are beginning to click into place here. Draco’s subdued behavior, Lucius’s attitude toward him. Something else I have far too much experience with, a disapproving father. “When Draco happened upon me some hideous creature parading as a man named Marcus had made it his mission to teach blonde young men how…. “things” are done. I was simply ensuring his safe return to you.” 

Lucius has grown wide eyed as I speak. He quickly assess Draco then asks, “Is this true?” Draco flushes and folds his arms, but nods. Narcissa scurries over and tries to fret with his hair but he bats her away. Lucius looks back at me, “Where is he?”

“I last saw him staggering through your parlor toward the fire. Fenrir, our Lord would like a word with you.” He pushes off the wall and the two of them set off toward the parlor again. I look at Narcissa who nods to me, gratitude in her expression. I glance Draco who can’t quite bring himself to look at me and walk past the bar, toward the kitchen door Fenrir had been standing by. Inside, nearly a dozen house elves scurry about looking frenzied and frightened. Over powering, delicious smells assault my senses and I am reminded how very little I’ve eaten recently. I dodge the creatures bustling about, who pay no mind to me, and move toward the right of the room for the door to the cellar. With the crowd in the main body of Lucius’s home this is the quickest access to their dungeons. I pass shelf after shelf of seasonings, jars of preserves, kitchen supplies and stored dry goods on the walls of the spiral stairs I’m descending. I’ve been down here before under a number of different circumstances. This place must have been some form of military outpost before it came into Malfoy hands. The dungeons are sprawling and complicated. Lucius himself would have a hard time escaping the deepest holds. When I reach the last step I stop and listen. I hear quiet whispers in a girlish tone, shushing and sniffles. I brace myself and find I have a hard time doing so. This has been a truly horrid meeting. I creep forward, listening in an attempt to get a sense of what I’ll see. 

I can just barely make out her saying, “It’s alright. They can’t hurt you anymore. It’s alright.” I know those words. I’ve said them before, seen countless others whisper the same words to deaf ears, gazing into unseeing eyes, drying tears that roll down cold cheeks. Someone has died. I pick up the pace. She hears me coming and moans softly. There is no assuaging her fears, it will be a long time yet before she feels safe and she will likely be more frightened when she sees me than less. I honestly don’t care, my only focus at this point is that we leave as quickly as possible. I stride quickly down the hall, taking the first right in a series of four, torches on the wall lighting automatically along the way. I walk past several cells as quickly as I can finding all of them empty until somewhere near the middle, I find her. Her back is turned toward me, dirty, knotted blonde hair projecting in every direction. She’s shuddering and sniffling as quietly as she can, rocking slightly and holding someone in her lap. His lower half lays lifeless to the right of her. I am stilled by the scene momentarily but come back to myself when a small, frightened noise escapes her.

“Miss Lovegood.”

A single sob escapes her and she shakes her head. 

“I’m coming in, Miss Lovegood.” 

She takes a shuddering breath and turns her head to the left, away from the direction I’m entering. I touch the door to her cell and the lock grinds open, so I discover I’m also keyed to their dungeon cells, how thoughtful. I push the door and it swings wide. Attempting to convey as much caution and consideration as I can with my every move, I enter with slow, steady steps. When I round her I see the body she cradles is Ollivanders. His clothing is tattered and he is beyond frail looking. Luna isn’t looking at me and I can’t see her past her hair. I approach slowly and crouch beside her. She's holding her breath and has gone very still. I touch his wrist and find no pulse. 

I stand back up and sigh. I fold my arms across my chest and look down at the man that sold me my wand. He made it such a magical, personal experience. Made every single person feel so unique. No wonder Voldemort hated him, aside from his acceptance of supposed filth. 

“We’ll take him with us.” 

This gets her attention. She looks at me, terrified, puffy, blue eyes wide on her red, dirt splotched, tear stained face. “Take him? We'll… where are you taking me?”

I squat beside her and give her the most compassionate gaze I can. “We have to go to Hogwarts first. I think maybe you need Madam Pomfrey. After that, I’ll take you wherever you’d like to go.”

She shakes her head, “Not you, I won’t leave with you.”

I touch her arm very gently and she goes stalk still. “Then who, Luna? Who would you want to see? Where would you like to go?” She’s a clever girl. I look at her meaningfully. I know her fairly well. Well enough to know that she’ll catch the underlying meaning. She eyes me scrupulously, still unsure but cautiously optimistic. “We’ll take him with us.” I stand slowly and slower still, remove my wand from my pocket. “Do you need help to stand or walk?” 

She shakes her head slowly and hiccups. “Him first. I don’t want him on the floor. He deserves better than the floor.” I sigh shakily, choked with emotion but trying not to show it. That she would think of such a thing after what she’s been through…

“Of course.” With a swish and flick his body rises with the movement of my wand. I try my best to keep him steady and keep one eye on an uncertain Luna at the same time. She exhales shakily and looks at me expectantly. I nod and turn for the door, sending Ollivander through first and listening closely for any suspicious noises behind me. People who have been in her position can be unpredictable to say the least. I move several paces beyond the door and into the hall before turning back to her. She stands in the doorway, hands clasped and held close to her chest. She examines the air and the frame of the doorway to her cell, even the floor for several minutes before she steps through then freezes as if waiting for something. When nothing happens she exhales sharply and looks between Ollivander and myself several times, obviously frightened and suspicious. Then she meets my eye. 

“You killed Dumbledore.”

It’s not an accusation or even said angrily. Her voice has taken on more of its Luna quality, not as shaky and quiet, more airy and matter of fact.

“I did.” 

“Why would I trust you? Why should I go with you?”

“The Dark Lord no longer thinks holding you will accomplish anything. Your father has agreed to stop printing papers opposing Him and it has become apparent that neither of you know any information regarding Mr. Potters whereabouts. He is merciful when the situation allows him to be, and so you are free to leave. You are going with me because I am going to Hogwarts, you should trust me because you have no other option.”

“That isn’t a very convincing argument.”

I scowl at her and reach into my robe with my free hand. “Perhaps this will help.” When I hand her her wand, her eyes light up but she looks at me even more suspiciously. Before she can get any ideas I act quickly to persuade her toward trust. “Listen to me. This isn’t the place to stand about talking. I’m sure you’re eager to leave, and I have too much to do today to waste any more time in unfriendly circumstances. We’ll go to Hogwarts first, then I’ll take you wherever you would feel safest. Alright?”

I can see the gears turning in her mind through her critical gaze. She nods minutely and I nod curtly back. Examining the hall before us I have to think momentarily about how to get to the exit that will let us outside. Avoiding any run ins with the Malfoys guests is a fairly high priority, it’s unlikely anyone would be down here but it’s not impossible. We walk in silence further into the dungeons, winding our way past empty cells and closed doors. I wonder how many are truly empty and how many are spelled to appear to be, I hope Luna doesn’t know enough to be wondering the same. I also hope she doesn’t think to ask about Griphook. With any luck she doesn’t even know about him. I would hate to have to explain my inability to rescue everyone that’s likely down here to her, I would probably have to charm her unconscious to remove her from the premises. It’s best that she doesn’t know, I can only hope Harry doesn’t either. Considering all of the explanations I’m already going to have to give, I’d greatly prefer not to add to them. And explaining to Harry having to choose who to let die… I don’t think that’s even actually possible. His mind can’t comprehend that sort of thing, he’s too good and pure to let something so horrible happen. And then there’s me. Voldemort see’s me as such an equal, has seen me commit such atrocities, has had me spearhead dark operations that were so successful that now he’s asked me to fill his shoes. He has been inside of my mind and found it so similar to his own that he believes I could be him. My heart quickens and my stomach rolls. Voldemort himself believes us to be one in the same. Obviously we aren’t. I’m not capable of the things he is, I’m not him. But I’m going to have to be if I am to keep up this charade. He evidently believes I am capable, and I, apparently, have proven I am… what does that mean about me? Isn’t a person truly the culmination of the things they’re capable of? Harry is good, deeply and truly good, because he is incapable of even considering the things I am capable of actually doing. The reasons I’ve committed those horrors… they don’t really matter do they? Because a really good person simply couldn’t. So that's my truth. I’m vile. I’m some kind of… self justifying monster. I’m so good at it that just hours ago I had myself so thoroughly convinced that I allowed myself to hold Harry, to confess my feelings. Would have tarnished him with my lips, would have committed perhaps my greatest sin to date and taken what I could never deserve. I’ve even somehow managed to trick him into believing I’m not the monster I am. No more. No amount of temptation can delude me now. His beauty and goodness will only serve as a reminder. Remus was right, he never belonged with me, I can't believe I could be so blind, so foolish, to let myself think I was being anything other than selfish. No matter. This development calls for an Order meeting, and when he hears about this, what Voldemort thinks I'm capable of, what I've shown him I’m capable of… he’ll be horrified that he even knows me. I look at Ollivanders hovering form leading the way and it confirms everything I'm feeling. I let him die. I knew he was down here, knew what was happening, and I let it happen. And why? What purpose did his death serve? I may as well have killed him myself. 

“You’re sad.”

Luna's voice startles me nearly out of my skin. I attempt to speak and find an obstruction where my voice box should be. I say nothing.

I see her watching me from the corner of my eye. She looks back at the floor in front of us. “I've never seen you look sad before. You usually seem like you don't care. Like you don't feel anything.”

My heart pounds furiously. This shouldn't hurt this much. I can't understand why this hurts so much. “I usually don't.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “What's changed?”

I don't need to think about it. I just feel it with all that I am. “Everything.” 

She doesn't say anything else and fortunately the cellar door is seconds away. I perform a hovering charm on Ollivander and climb up first to make sure the way is clear for us, we’ll be taking the back way out. Thankfully this door let’s out beyond the Malfoy’s gardens, as they’re now brimming over with guests. I can hear the cacophony of slurred shouts and laughter even from this distance. I climb out into the slowly lightening sky and elevate Ollivander before calling down to Luna. She comes up quickly behind his corpse, seeming reluctant to leave his side. Once out she looks about frantically, holding her wand at the ready. 

“Let's hurry.” I turn and stride quickly down a gray slate path through the Malfoys dormant foliage toward their back gate. Once more I’m forcing myself not to run, though Luna’s forced to do an awkward sort of jog to keep up with my pace. “How are you feeling, are you still alright to walk?” 

“I’m fine… if I’m free to go, why are we hiding and rushing?” 

“Being free to go doesn’t mean His followers won’t harm you. Most of them aren’t overly fond of me either. Best not to be seen.”

“Why don’t they like you?” 

“The same reasons nobody else does.”

“That isn’t a very nice thing to say about yourself.”

“The truth often isn’t very nice.” I try not to think about Harry. It doesn’t work.

“If what I think is happening is what’s happening then I don’t think that’s the truth.”

“People don’t have to like each other to work together.” 

“No. But considering circumstance someone would have to like you for you to be alive.” 

I don’t say anything and hate her for making that point. We're at the gate now and I push it open, barely slowing to do so. You can disapparate just outside of this gate, thankfully. I assume it’s for hasty getaways. I flick my wand and Ollivander lowers into my outstretched arms. He isn’t exactly light but he’s no where near heavy enough. Years of experience help me to detach and prevent me from fully feeling this, besides, comparative to that night on the astronomy tower this is nothing. But Luna is obviously struggling. Her eyes are brimming, her throat works rapidly, swallowing down her grief, she’s no longer red from crying but too pale even for her fair complexion. As traumatic as seeing anyone die is I’m somewhat surprised by her reaction, considering her past. Though I suppose I don’t know the details of what happened in the dungeon or the nature of the relationship they built there. And I don't intend to. I’ve got enough on my mind, enough problems of my own, I rescued her and spared Harry the pain and burden that would have been her death. That’s the extent of my interest in this.

“When you're ready, Miss Lovegood, I’ll apparate us directly into the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.” She nods but doesn’t look at me. She stares achingly at Ollivanders still form. I can’t stand any more of it. “Time is of the essence.” When she meets my eye, hers are critical of my sharp tone, but she takes my forearm and I try desperately not to remember or feel anything that action might trigger. There’s no point to it. Feeling, remembering, these are for lesser minds and people. What if’s and pining are a redundant waste of ones time. There is only what is and what is dictates what will be. I’m not good enough for Harry, who will… die… anyway, so there is nothing that could have come of… a hypothetical relationship with him. Best to have come to my senses now. 

“Professor Snape?” 

I come back to myself and find I’m staring at Luna’s hand. Concerned, distant blue eyes search me for something and I clear my throat and look away before she can find it. “Are you ready?” I find my voice is much less even than I would like though I don’t know why.

“When you are.” The statement seems mocking, as I’ve just told her to hurry then stood staring at nothing, though her tone does not. It’s hard to tell with her. She’s always so ethereal.

I take a deep breath and focus on Hogwarts, hoping to keep my balance upon arrival, anxious for a calming draught and a snifter of brandy.

When we arrive the Hospital is quiet and still. I cast a quick glance around us. None of the very few students that stayed behind over Christmas are here, nor any of the staff. I see a bed with a curtain I can draw and stagger over to put Ollivander in it. I lay him down as gently as possible and flick my wand to draw the curtain. After a moment of silence in which I brush myself off and look anywhere other than at Luna, I call out into the stillness for my rescue.

“Poppy?” 

I hear something clatter and rapid footsteps approaching. She rounds a corner to my left past the beds toward the entrance of the ward. “Headmaster! What- oh, heavens! Miss Lovegood what's happened to you?” She shoots me an accusatory look before gripping Luna by the face with both hands, examining her eyes then checking her color. 

“She was taken by Snatchers after leaving for Holidays. Listen to me Poppy, I don’t have much time, I have to leave quickly.” I wave my wand and set several privacy wards around us. Poppy releases Luna and looks at me curiously. I cast a surveillance revelation charm. Nothing happens and I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Tell those whom it concerns that the storm has come and the rabbits have taken to the den.”

She looks at me blankly for a moment, then looks over her shoulder at Luna and back to me. “You’re…” she doesn’t finish the statement. “I’m sorry I don’t understand.” She doesn’t trust me, a wise choice really.

“They’re expecting me Poppy. I can’t explain, I haven’t the time but it’s true. You’ll see for yourself. Please take very good care of Luna and have her floo directly to my office when you’re done with your examination. Try for sometime before ten if possible.” I wave my wand and stride from the room quickly. I could floo or I could apparate to my office, but I want the walk, I need the distraction. The lack of sleep is catching up with me, I’m having a hard time processing the extent of everything that’s just happened. The Dark Lord is leaving to attempt to obtain the most powerful artifact in the history of magic. And he’s leaving me in charge of everything, the Death Eaters, communication with the Ministry, directing current operations and taking charge in the quest for Harry… there’s no way to keep this up, no way to stall him. It’s over. We’re out of time, and whatever might have been… whatever Albus might have intended, it was over before it began. As much as I try to look at it matter-of-factly I can’t help… feeling. Typically, in a similarly out of hand situation, it wouldn’t really feel like a loss. It shouldn’t feel like a loss. I had not yet gained anything. I suppose it’s just that… he’s the first I’ve even considered in years. The first to have apparently considered me. Others had taken interest in fleeting physical relations but… I suppose that’s why it feels like more with Harry. He would never… it doesn’t matter. This is hardly the most important issue at hand. To be thinking of such a thing at a time like this. I scoff out loud at my own trivial mind. Besides, thinking of my own feelings on the subject, when Harry’s reaction is the unknown variable. He’s always been a wild card, and at a time like this when he’s already so emotionally vulnerable, I only hope that he can understand that the risk is simply too great, that his safety is more paramount now than ever and I cannot maintain these unexplained disappearances. He’ll have to stay at Remus's… likely to be cared for by him. A married, soon to be father with apparent interest in him. While I haven’t the time for curiosity on the subject it’s unavoidable. Simply to clear my mind of the distraction, which I know is a lie but I’ll choose to believe it, I’ll get to the bottom of the issue before I relinquish Harry to him... that thought makes me uncomfortable. I can’t concern myself with my feelings on the subject though. This is a waste of my energy. None of this matters if Voldemort achieves his goal, he must be stopped before he finds the Tridecus. We’ve got to construct a plan, I’ve got to focus on his actions and sorting his research while fulfilling my duties to him with limited casualties and minimal damage until we can draw him out and defeat him. Anxiety begins to set in once more. I’m not certain I can handle this, I've always been fairly sure I wouldn’t make it out of this war alive, now I’m positive. It’s part of the reason I’m dreading telling Harry what he must do, knowing that you’re to play a direct hand in your own end is something beyond words. And I… now, I’ll have taken part in Dumbledore's, my own and Harry’s. As well as his parents and mine. And my work as a Death Eater… I have to stop and rest against a wall, I find I’m struggling to breathe. I’m just down the hall from the stone gargoyle that protects my office. I wish desperately for perhaps the millionth time that it wasn’t my office. That there was a wise, ridiculous, old man in ornate robes waiting at the top of those winding stairs with tea and confections to give me advice and encouragement. I would, of course, ignore both and likely call him several names before blaming him for this mess and leaving. But I would leave feeling much more calm and confident. At least, I would feel much less... alone. I’m not alone anymore though. I take several deep breaths and repeat that thought to myself several times. I’ve called an Order meeting, those they can still contact will help, we’ll figure this out, do what we can. It isn’t safe to meet like this but we have to. But it won’t make any difference if I can’t keep it together. I straighten out, not feeling much better but more determined. Perhaps it’s not best at the current time to consider my present circumstance in it’s grand perspective. Barry Winkle may be on to something with his day by day, moment to moment existence. As I approach, the gargoyle opens his mouth revealing a letter. I exhale my exasperation harshly and roll my eyes as I take it from him. If one day could simply go by as expected that would be marvelous. The back of the envelope bears the ministry seal, which comes as a surprise, as I’m to be plagued with their presence all day. I trudge up the stairs, thinking only of alcohol, Pepperup and Anxiety potions, ignoring the envelope in my hands and the weight of the journal in my pocket. It’s all too much, this day has been endless. I’m feeling much too human, I don’t like it. When I reach my office I’m feeling paranoid and cast several revelation and counter surveillance spells which detect nothing. I stride for my desk and tap the charmed knob of the upper left drawer with my wand. It transforms into a zero and I set heavily down in Dumbledores oversized chair. I stare blankly at the envelope in my left hand and think of nothing in particular. I don’t want to read it. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to sit behind this desk, below that empty portrait, under the absent party's tinkling gadgets or fight in this war for one more second. I crave peace and quiet and predictability. Though I suppose I no longer wish to be alone. I sigh deeply and summon the alcohol first. Deciding the snifter would simply get in the way, I take a long drink straight from the decanter. I’m not particularly fond of brandy, but Albus had a taste for strong liquor and this brandy, his brandy, is of the highest proof. It’s ironic, that I go for it when I don’t want to feel, but it makes me think of him and I only feel more. I set it aside and stare at his empty portrait for a moment, willing him to appear and knowing he won’t. I sigh and look to the envelope in my hand. I open it slowly feeling a mixture of apprehension and disinterested detachment, but more than anything sheer exhaustion. Emotions and the spotlight… it doesn't suit me. The first thing I note once the envelope is open is the rosey pink of Dolores Umbridge's personal stationary. Next, the unbearable stench of that repulsive musk she drenches herself and her surroundings in. I determine to read it quickly then burn it, so as to be rid of the scent. 

Lord Snape:

The line takes me by surprise. I read it again. In all of the correspondence I’ve received from her, she nearly always addresses me as Professor, the few letters in which my title was Headmaster were informal documents and mass deliveries. Needless to say, I am now more interested in the letters content.

Lord Snape:  
Upon hearing of your new position at the forefront of our quest for undesirables and the improvement of our society at large, we at the Ministry were both pleased and further impressed by newly acquired knowledge of the grand scale of your plans to bring about the shining new beginning of Wizarding society. As such, your meeting with the Department of Education has been canceled as well as your meeting with the Inquisitors Department as all questions and concerns have been addressed and properly satisfied. Please accept my personal apology and know that the Ministry supports any and all new incentives of yours fully, without question and is at your disposal.

Magic is Might

Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge

While I’m disconcerted at the speed with which news of my position has spread, and the reminder of my position in general, this letter is a huge relief. Two meetings that were going to be extensive and probing enough to take the whole day. Honestly, I had been concerned with the outcome of their digging. I can’t be certain Dolores ordered the investigations because she’s suspicious of my motivations, but it had seemed as such. This letter feels suspicious. To have basically planned the overhaul of my position as Headmaster and launch a full investigation into my decisions and actions, then turn around completely and hand total control over to me… I suddenly understand. She’s offering the services of the ministry to me because there’s nothing they can’t do. If I hand these students over to her, they’ll use any and every technique against them. If I don’t, she’ll twist it into noncooperation and come after me every chance she gets in every way she can. I crumple the letter into a ball and toss it into the fireplace, then set it ablaze, lean back in my chair and have several more long drinks out of the decanter. She will be expecting a reply immediately. What can I say? It has to be flattering and polite and dismissive with good cause. I suppose the reason I gave Voldemort is good enough. That they’ll draw him out eventually, that they don’t currently know anything of real use and couldn’t individually. I’ve made the argument time and again that cruel treatment of the children only makes enemies of their parents. Dolores believes in an all or nothing cause, however. That if their children mean more to them than the cause then they were never allies to begin with. My defense of the students, people I’m no relation to, who are considered undesirables, is suspicious no matter the end game. I only hope that she will believe me and agree to allow me to hold the course. I pull out my stationary and quill and begin to write despite feeling mildly intoxicated, deciding against the Pepperup potion. In fact, now that I’m not expected to host a horde of Voldemort’s people in my office, I might even skip the Anxiety potion and focus on getting properly pissed. It’s likely the last time I will ever have the opportunity, my position as a spy and the fact that both sides of the war effort hate me means I have to be on high alert, even when I sleep. Constant vigilance, as the rather unfortunate and recently deceased Alastor Moody put it. And I’ll need to be more vigilant now than ever before. Yes, getting thoroughly drunk might be the best idea I’ve had in ages. I’ll finish this brandy as soon as I finish this letter to Madam Undersecretary Underfoot. 

Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge:

Perhaps second to the honor I have recently had bestowed upon me is the honor I felt reviewing your letter. Your support is not only welcomed but cherished and I look forward to working together to bring about the ultimate, glorious destiny of our society. While currently I require no assistance, there is no one I would go to before yourself and the powerful institutes you have built. I promise you will be the first to know if anything changes. Do not hesitate to seek my company for any reason at any time. 

Magic is Might

Lord Severus Snape

I choke back my revulsion and spell the letter to send itself. I swipe the brandy decanter off my desk and guzzle down as much of the bitter liquor as I can in one go. With my day opened up, there isn’t much else I can do anyway. I’ve no intention of handling all of my sensitive paperwork under the influence. I’m exhausted, but there isn’t enough time to rest before the meeting… because before the meeting I have to talk to Harry. I sigh and rub my eyes. I should have just listened to my instincts. In this moment I can’t even begin to imagine what possessed me to give in to my desires. I’m not entirely to blame though. Only Dumbledore could manage to meddle to this extent from beyond the grave. I can’t understand what good he thought might come from it. Knowing how unpredictable my circumstance can be and Harry’s fate, as well as my knowledge of it, I cannot fathom the purpose of bringing us together. And now I have to… ugh, break it off? Am I about to… break up with Harry Potter? I take another swig of the brandy and laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Even more absurd, though I am steadfast in my decision and will not be swayed, I don’t want to. It may be very early, and I may not know him very well, but I like him. He’s… sort of funny. He may not be terribly brilliant but he’s witty. His indomitable spirit and sense of righteousness are inspiring, even more so when one considers his age and all he’s been through. The thought of his age sends another wave of guilt over me, but I drown it with another scalding drink of the brandy. He is neither a child in age nor mentality. I don’t believe he has been in some time. No, he’s now in that perfect, tender age of hopefulness between adolescence and adulthood. When the crushing weight of existential dread has yet to quell your thirst for life and you’re finally free to be your own person. I’d envy his youth, but it’s all he’ll ever know, and it’s been so difficult. There isn’t much to show there. Just struggles and turmoil and strife, and then to sacrifice himself for us. Ah, that’s what I’d been thinking, that he ought to be given anything and everything that will make him happy until the end. When I was with him, hard to believe it was just hours ago, I felt that could be me. But it can’t be. Aside from who I am as a person and the risk of the two of us being together, the risk to my life in this war is just as great as his own. What if I were to let this develop and then was found out and killed? What would Harry's reaction be? Would that misery be worth whatever brief happiness he would know before the end, or would it just be another twist of the knife? How could I have justified this to myself? Several more long drinks of brandy, which I’m tasting less now, clarify my memory. He’d been hurting, he’s been hurting, all of his life. Blaming himself for things beyond his control, for everyone’s misery and had just witnessed a dear friend being tortured. And, likely because he doesn’t know any better, he has feelings for me too, wants this just as badly. When confronted with someone so beautiful, who, for whatever reason, wants you too, reason and logic often cease to exist. I only wanted his happiness, for him to feel better and to take that self loathing away… to let him know that not only is he not blamed he is adored. I adore him. I think, maybe, I have not genuinely disliked him for sometime, though I can’t quite pinpoint when that stopped. Perhaps since looking into his mind that first time and finding the exact opposite of what I expected. I saw less and less of his father in him after that. My treatment of him a knee jerk reaction to both being wrong and recognizing a sort of kindred spirit. Both of us having known such suffering at such a young age. I didn’t want to have anything in common with James Potters son and I certainly didn’t want to pity him. How time changes you. Now, I don’t only pity him and recognize our similarities… I enjoy him, I care about him, I have feelings for him… and I have to let him go. For both of our sakes. He’ll understand. It likely won’t be anywhere near so upsetting to him, we haven’t actually confessed to anything, we just may as well have. At least… I hope it won’t be. I’m not certain I’ll be able to do this if he’s even the least bit distressed over it. Which is ridiculous. I have to, this isn’t a choice. He’s going to have to either go back to The Burrow or Remus's cabin and we won’t be seeing each other again for sometime. I find I’m finishing the decanter of brandy and feel much more loose. I think on everything that’s happened, all the new developments and realize I’ve been forgetting something important, nearly tied for first in terms of most interesting recent developments. The Tridecus may exist and Voldemort is hunting it, but Harry Potter began subconsciously using me to defend the most intimate aspects of his person because he has strong, deep, intimate feelings about me. I laugh out loud at my own idiocy. No, this won’t be easy, he is going to take it poorly and it’s going to hurt me just as much as it hurts him. There’s a connection here, war or no. I need him to know I care, I can’t take the cold approach here, I can’t make him think he means nothing to me and that’s why this can’t be. He has to simply understand that we can’t. 

I stand and the decanter falls to the floor out of my lax fingers, shattering. I don’t care. I stumble through my office, to my room, then my bed. There are several secret compartments in the walls of my rooms. In them are stashes of potions, among other things, a few of Dumbledore’s memories and my own. I’ve even hidden several books that might seem incriminating or absurd to the Dark Lord, or anyone else, in the instance of this book specifically. I didn’t actually purchase this book, it was among my mothers sparse possessions left in our attic. I perused it's index when I discovered it and read the chapter on Legillimency and Occlumency for a laugh. It wasn’t much later that I heard of an actual instance of what had seemed so ridiculous at the time. Now I’m glad to have saved it. It will tell Harry what I can’t bear to, and then I’ll only be responsible for explaining why none of it matters… maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn’t tell him… but if he talks to Hermione and she knows anything… is it better he hears it from me? Or is it better if I don’t let him know? If he knows what I know, he’ll know that I care, if he knows I care he’ll know it’s hard for me too. If he knows it’s hard for me too, will he feel guilty and try to change my mind? If he finds out from Hermione will he be angry? Will he be more hurt? Will he come after me or do something else stupid? I snort at the last. He’s likely to do something stupid either way. I guess I can’t control his reaction. So it comes down to what I want to do and what I think is right. I want to see him. I know that. I want to tell him everything… but I know I can’t. But I can give him the book… and I can tell him why what I want doesn’t matter… alone, where we can talk. It takes me a moment to decipher the clock on the wall opposite me. It’s a little after 8, the sun just beginning to brighten the sky. Maybe this isn’t the best idea, going there so heavily intoxicated and emotional and exhausted… I could counteract the effects of the alcohol with some Pepperup potion, but then what was the point? It won’t be that bad, surely I can handle this. It’s a simple matter of telling him what’s happening and resisting any temptations. Now that everything is beyond our choice it should be easy. I should probably at least eat something… maybe I’ll bring something for him too. We’ll talk over a meal. That sounds safe. I make my way over to the wall the clock is on and tap it three times with my wand. A small cubby slides open, the book I’m looking for inside with several others as well as a few pieces of my mothers jewelry. I lift a book of defensive potions out of the way and take the book for Harry out of the cubby. I put the journal inside and tap the front of the cubby twice to seal it back into the wall. I study the well worn cover for the first time since placing the book there. Love Craft: Understanding Love and Its Magical Magnificence by Adora Laramie. Just as ludicrous as the first time I saw it. I’m actually beginning to feel embarrassed by the concept of handing this to Harry… but it is the only text I’ve ever seen that mentions what Harry’s experiencing. Maybe I should wrap it? Tell him to open it in private? And… maybe I should write some of my thoughts on the subject down. The cover might be a bit… much. I don’t want to leave him reeling. Yes that’s what I’ll do. I shuffle back to my desk in the opposite room, legs heavy and world spinning. Upon arrival I ring my house elf bell and slouch in my chair, head resting on the palm of my hand. Moments later I hear the familiar voice of a house elf who has become rather inexplicably obsessed with me in the past year. 

“Headmaster Snape! You is needing something?”

“Dobby. It’s always you.”

“Not always, sir, but Dobby does like to be the one who answers when you call.”

“Why?”

“Because Dobby knows Mr. Snape better than the other house elves. And... Mr. Dumbledore asked Dobby to be looking after Mr. Snape when he was gone.” He looks around the room then leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “Mr. Dumbledore said you would be looking very badly by the end of the year before Mr. Snape… before Mr. Dumbledore died, but that Dobby should be paying no mind and that if Dobby cared about Harry Potter, he should be caring about Mr. Snape too.” His eyes light up and glisten when he says his name and he seems practically thrumming with energy. 

“Don’t say… that name. You know him?”

“Know Harry Potter?!” I scowl at him and he grimaces. “He is being Dobby’s closest friend! Dobby is glad he didn’t come back to Hogwarts, though Dobby is missing him…” he looks at me hopefully, “and Dobby is always worried. Dobby hoped Mr. Snape would have asked about this sooner, so that if Dobby could be helping Mr. Snape and… our friend, that Dobby could see him too!”

I sigh and let my arm go limp and drop my head to the arm of the chair. This could be a trick. I’m simply too inebriated to know. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s because Mr. Snape is drunk!” My head shoots up. I’m quite sure I’ve never heard a house elf say such a thing before.

“Excuse me?” 

“Mr. Snape is smelling very much of Mr. Dumbledore's special brandy. And Mr. Snape has broken Mr. Dumbledore's crystal!” Dobby snaps his fingers and it rights itself and levitates back to the shelf I summoned it from. 

“Dumbledore told you to take care of me? Why are you only telling me this now?”

“Because Dobby has been waiting to see what Mr. Snape would do. Mr. Dumbledore said you was good but Dobby thought maybe you was just a good liar. But Mr. Snape has been trying to help the students and Dobby thinks Mr. Dumbledore was right, Mr. Snape is wanting to help Ha-… friends.” He’s standing beside me now, peeking over my lap at the book in my right hand and I roll my eyes before handing it to him.

“Wrap it for me, would you? And pack a breakfast for two… make it… something heavy, like biscuits or bread maybe?” He gives me a curious look but I give nothing away. I’ve said too much but I couldn’t help pitying him a little. I worry too. 

“Is Mr. Snape wanting this addressed or mailed?” 

“No just wrapped please Dobby.”

He gives me a sly look, oversized eyes glittering mischievously before disappearing. What an odd creature. Harry seems to surround himself with the most unusual of beings. I summon more parchment and another quill, but stare blankly at the parchment once it’s before me. Where to start? Implications and uncertainties aside, it would take an essay to put my thoughts into words… and how to keep from intimidating him? I pick up my quill and take a deep breath, deciding to err on the side of scholarly detachment. There will be no missing the truth of the matter between the lines.

I fill the entire sheet and realize after I’ve finished that somewhere along the way I missed the mark for “scholarly detachment” and hit “necessary information peppered with self pity” dead on. But I like it more… it feels more honest. Honesty is all I can give him now. I levitate my quill into the fireplace and light it as well. It wouldn’t do to have someone charm it to rewrite this message. It's been nearly ten minutes and I’m feeling less inebriated but much more exhausted than I had previously. I’m beginning to lose my nerve as well. The only way I’ll be able to get through this is to remember that it’s for Harry's own good. While it feels similar to being gutted to reject him and deny myself this one sliver of joy in all these years, I would do anything for him. Including, evidently, ruling as Voldemort’s second in command and possibly never seeing him again. I sigh deeply and something about the breath entering my lungs stings. This is getting ridiculous. What’s to miss? Until very recently we hated each other, I thought he was an idiot… I still think he’s an idiot. Juvenile in his mindset… a little gawky in appearance. But he’s more than that. And all together he’s perfectly charming. What seems juvenile is simply his good nature and what he lacks in experience he makes up in purpose and courage. One day with him and all of this has become so obvious I feel a fool for not having realized it sooner. I ache to make up for all the time I wasted mistreating him because of old prejudices and assumptions. To have summed it up in a few paragraphs… I have to do more. I’ll send him some defense books with spells I’ve improved written in. He did well with my old potions book, those spells were nothing compared to what I’ve been able to create with time. Spellcraft has been a favorite hobby of mine since I first came to Hogwarts, but I’ve had very little use for it. As a spy I am rarely in a position to duel, the opposite would mean I wasn’t doing my job very well. And my uses for magic are nearly always typical and more in the realm of the mundane than art. But Harry will likely need all the dueling training he can get, the more unexpected or obscure the better and as these are of my own design, they’ll be especially effective. I only hope I can prevent his need to use them as much as possible. The spells are advanced and practically inexorable but there are never any guarantees. I stand and summon two books, also well worn though no where near as old as my mothers, and they settle on my desk. After brief consideration I summon a third. These spells darker, perhaps controversial, but therefore counterintuitive to Harry's enemies. I summon a large book strap and spare another thought at the length of time Dobby has been gone. Almost as if on cue he reappears. I hear the customary snap, then a wailing that startles me nearly out of my skin. I whirl on the creature, prepared to berate him into a sniveling pile of mush before I spot another creature behind him whose face is badly burned. 

“Dobby is sorry, Mr. Snape! Dobby has brought your breakfast and the book back, wrapped, but one of the Carrows was needing something from Winky and Winky was being dizzy from Butterbeer and dropped the tea and the Carrows was punishing Winky! But Winky is free!”

“Winky was deserving it! Winky is always deserving to be punished!”

“Winky does not!”

“Winky does too!”

“Silence! Wait here!” Her face is nauseating, and the poor creature is a blubbering mess. As if the Carrows don’t inspire enough misery, now they have to inflict it on the house elves. I stride quickly to the back of my office and open a small cabinet on a large bookshelf that takes up the majority of the back wall. I pull out a burn salve and stride back to the still wailing elf. Squatting beside her, I grab on to one of her wiry, thin arms. She begins resisting immediately. “Hold still.”

“Mr. Snape is being too kind! Winky deserves her punishment, Winky should not be helped, Winky should suffer!” 

“You dropped tea, Winky, you didn’t hurt anyone nor did you deserve to be hurt. Dropping tea doesn’t quantify being burned. Besides, as a free elf it was not their place. Let me help you.”

“Winky is not free, Winky is alone! Winky is a failure, Winky should be punished!”

I consider her for a moment. “Winky… you work for the school. You are not alone. You are the schools elf.”

“The schools is not a person! The school is not a master for Winky!”

“No… but the school has a master. And everything on the school grounds is that masters responsibility. And everyone who helps that master does so because the master says to. I’m that person, Winky, I’m the schools master. You are responsible for the school because I say you are… I might not own you, but you are my helper. You do as I say and if you don’t, you won’t stay here. How different is that from what your life was before?” She stares at me sullenly before beginning to weep gently again. “I’m going to fix your burns, Winky, and then I want you to go and do as you please and consider what I’ve said.” She nods and I release her arm. I dab around her wound with my sleeve to dry her tears then open the jar of salve and apply a liberal amount to it. The accelerated healing process begins immediately and she stops whimpering quite so loudly as the pain is alleviated. 

“Better?”

She nods slowly and sniffles. Big teary brown eyes examine me cautiously and I give her a reassuring, half hearted smirk. She inhales shudderingly before disapparating, likely, back to the kitchens. I stand and twist the lid back on to the jar of salve. That poor creature. After all this time, still so distraught over the actions of that blundering coward Crouch. 

“Mr. Snape…”

I’d nearly forgotten Dobby was there. I feel a little uncomfortable in our aloneness. I hadn’t thought twice on my actions while Winky was here and in such agony, but I might not have acted quite so familiar had I considered Dobby witnessing it. As it is, I can’t quite find words, it is difficult when someone unexpectedly see’s my more human side.

“Mr. Snape is being kind to Winky… Mr. Snape is saving students… Mr. Snape is being who Mr. Dumbledore said he was! A good wizard, kind… like our friend!” He holds a wicker picnic basket out to me with one hand and the book, covered with plain brown wrapping paper tied on with twine, in the other. I take both and walk them back to my desk. I glance over my shoulder at Dobby and cast revelation charms on both. Nothing happens and I turn on my heel to face him once more.

“Have you shown anyone these things? Talked to anyone about them? Shown other house elves? Whichever of the Carrows was in the kitchen, did they see you pack this breakfast or see the book?”

“No Mr. Snape! Dobby is smart, Dobby knows Mr. Snape needs everything private and quiet and hidden. Dobby is keeping Mr. Snape’s secrets for him, is keeping people out of his office when he is gone and helping Mr. Snape help our friend!” 

“How do you know that?”

“Because Mr. Snape would tell Dobby if he was wrong. But Mr. Snape shouldn’t be afraid, Dobby would keep him safe no matter what. No one will ever know the things Dobby knows.”

I turn back and slide my folded letter into the twine wrapped around the book Dobby handed me and place it atop the others on top of the book strap. I pull the strap around them and tighten it. I consider my situation and everything Dobby has told me. I’ve decided already to trust him but I can’t bring myself to come out and tell him that he’s right. “Thank you for all of this, Dobby. And thank you for your loyalty.” I pick up my effects, tucking the books beneath my arm so as to still hold my wand, and nod to Dobby. His hands are clasped to his chest and his bug like eyes glisten with emotion.

“So kind to us house elves. Just like him… and Mr. Dumbledore. Dobby understands why Mr. Dumbledore thought what he did now. Dobby thinks maybe it’s true now too!”

“What did he tell you?”

“Mr. Dumbledore told us we couldn’t say. But you is already knowing, Mr. Snape.” With an impish grin Dobby snaps his fingers and disappears. I roll my eyes at his dramatics but prepare myself for some of my own as well as Harry’s. I take a deep breath and focus on the snowy peace of the woods I’m traveling to. The claustrophobic pressure of apparation feels like nothing compared to the vice around my chest at the thought of this undertaking. I only hope that I’ll be up to the task, that I’ll not muddle the whole thing. My feet land on slick, soft ground and I open my eyes. The woods are exactly as I remembered, snow still flurries around me, though it's much more light and sparse than before. I’m not even entirely certain it’s still snowing. It may just be blowing off the treetops. I take a refreshing breath of cool, crisp air. Where moments earlier a deep breath had stung, something about this place (whether it’s the open space or Harry's proximity I cannot say) is freeing, what was pinched and tight beneath my breastbone releases itself and opens my airway. I’m before the doorway in the blink of an eye, both anxious and apprehensive. I’ve no desire to do this but greatly desire seeing him again. Above all else I want his safety. While I can’t assure him or myself that this will keep him safe, I know it’s the right thing to do. That to continue this way would be too great a risk. The door swings open and candlelight greets me. As I step over the threshold and start down the stairs I hear the scrape of a chair and a few rapid footsteps that match the pounding of my heart. I look into his face and meet his eye, I find both warm and glowing, relieved to see me. 

“You’re back!” A wide, happy smile full of brilliant white teeth is bestowed upon me and received with a mixture of joy and heart ache. Regardless, I bask in it, and memorize the details. It’s likely the last time I'll see it and definitely the only time such a perfect being will ever gift me with such admiration. His expression shifts quickly. “Are you alright? Is… is Luna okay? Are you okay?” He takes in the basket and books but doesn’t say anything. I reach the bottom of the stairs, he steps forward and stands close enough to me that I can feel his body heat, even through my layers of clothing. “Would you like some help with those?” He holds out a hand and looks up into my face. He’s obviously nervous as well, where we left things was cause enough for nerves, but looking at him, knowing that he has no idea how much things have changed in the time I’ve been gone… it's overwhelming. I’ve a terrible case of stage fright suddenly. I place the picnic basket in his hand. He clumsily brings his right up to grasp it and looks at me.

“Breakfast?”

He furrows his brow. “Er… yeah. Is everything alright?”

I stride past him to the kitchenette and place his new collection of books on a counter there. I look down at the note under the twine around the book at the top. It helps me to collect my thoughts, knowing what I have to say and what's in the letter for him to read later. I’m glad I wrote it and suddenly even more glad of its nature. “Luna is safe. I’ve left her with Madam Pomfrey. She’ll be flooing to my office later so I can’t stay long… we need to talk.” It sounds cliché as it leaves my lips but I’m too anxious to worry about sounding commonplace. I fold my hands together before my chest and turn to the kitchen table where he’s taken the basket. He looks self conscious and a little frightened. I pity him, for he has no true concept of how frightened he really should be. I pity myself my duty of telling him. “Let’s start breakfast first. Bad news is best heard with a good meal, or something like that.”

“What?”

“Just a… turn of phrase I’ve heard before. Can’t quite remember where but I don’t suppose it really matters.” I take the seat closest to me, the same I was in last night, and he sits opposite me. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m… very tired.” 

“Oh.” He eyes me suspiciously.

I sigh. “I’m also a little drunk.”

His eyebrows disappear behind his fringe. A small, coy smirk plays on his lips and he flushes lightly. Then something occurs to him and the playfulness flees his features. “You have bad news… and you’re a little drunk.” He looks positively grim now. 

There’s a small silence in which I rack my brain for some technique to make this go over smoothly. My mind simply goes time and time again to breakfast. “We’ll eat first. Or… maybe while I’m talking. I don’t have long.” I open one side of the basket and find plates. I place one before him and myself. “A friend of yours packed this.” He looks up from his plate at me, confused. “Dobby?” 

His face lights slightly. “Dobby?! How is he?” 

I pull out silverware wrapped in cloth napkins. I hand one to him and then set about placing mine. “Alright, I suppose. He’s worried about you. And he’s an absolute nuisance.”

He smiles distantly, “Sounds like Dobby. Why do you say he’s a nuisance? What’s he doing to you?”

“He follows me about, everywhere. Always badgering me and trying to help.”

“Really? Do you know why?”

Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up. “No. If I did I’d put an end to it.” We're both quiet again at my outburst. I set my silverware down and rub my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just-“

“It’s alright. You’ve had an unbelievably long day.” He chuckles dryly. “I think… maybe it’d just be best if you tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not so easily done. I wish it were. I need to eat, you need to eat. We’ll eat and talk… I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s alright… but you building it up like this…”

“It’s very bad news. Harry. I would just… try to relax. If I were you. Eat whatever it is Dobby made us. Try to enjoy it. I’m probably going to ruin it for you but… we have to try to enjoy the moments we can when we can.”

He’s staring at me now, impatience written all over him. I sigh looking back at him and begin pulling out food. First bananas, then strawberries, a sealed dish of powdered sugar, whipped cream, a decanter of maple syrup, another of chocolate syrup and a large covered plate of almond crusted French toast. 

“Did you tell him to pack for twenty?”

“He’s deranged, I’ve told you.”

Harry opens the dish of strawberries and takes one. They’re rather large and ripe, I begin to wonder where Dobby came by them at this time of year before he puts it to his mouth. I look away quickly and swallow a sudden lump in my throat. Strawberries, bananas, almonds, chocolate. Aphrodisiacs. That meddling, barking, daft, old codger. Recruiting house elves into his barmy ideas. As if my life isn’t difficult enough. Now I’m fighting the forces of good in their misplaced sentimentality as they try to push a beautiful, young martyr upon me. Dumbledore was mistaken and I'll not fulfill his fool designs. This is goodbye for Harry and me. 

I set two slices of French toast on my plate, pour a conservative amount of syrup on them and use my spoon to dust powdered sugar over everything. I wave my wand toward the kitchen and listen as the dishes set about tea then glance at Harry, who’s still staring at me, and has a concerning sort of fondness in his eyes. His lips are parted around another strawberry and I resolve not to look at him again if I can help it.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Sorry. Not much else to look at.”

“Look at some toast.”

“After a while. I can't remember the last time I had strawberries. They're perfect, you should try one.”

I decide the safest thing is to change the subject. “I know you freed him, but I wasn’t aware you were still friends with Dobby.”

“Yeah… he sort of… I dunno, claimed me. Or something. But he’s really great. He’s different from the rest of the house elves.”

“I noticed.”

He laughs and though I don’t look at him, I know he’s still staring at me. “Are you alright?”

I shift uncomfortably and pick up another piece of toast. The tea hovers over toward us and begins pouring itself. “I am unharmed, if that is what you are asking. I don’t believe I have been mentally sound for quite a long time, as proof I would only need refer you to my current occupancy. So no loss there.” 

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You know what I meant.”

“I do.”

“Are you?”

“Eat a piece of toast and I’ll start talking.” I down a cup of tea and the pot leaps into the air and pours me another. I sip it and look at Harry as he removes a piece of toast from the tray. He’s too perfect. Like something from a dream. It’s obvious he slept no more in my absence, though he wears it well. Looking perfectly ruffled and sweetly tired. Delicate and pale as opposed to my own haggard and world weary appearance. I can’t understand why he stares, why he would want to look or if he does, why he does so with such fondness. I can hardly bear looking at him, he is almost too beautiful and combined with the pain I feel for him, the agonizingly bittersweet experience is overpowering. But I cannot look away either. I am mystified by all that he can do to my heart with something so simple as a smile or the twinkle in his eye. 

He puts chocolate syrup and powdered sugar on his toast, then a generous helping of whipped cream. He considers his plate for a moment then takes both a banana and several more strawberries, dipping one in chocolate syrup on his plate and swiping it through the mound of whipped cream on his toast. He sticks his tongue out just beyond his teeth to greet the fruit almost reverently and takes a light nibble from the end. He finally notices me looking at him and looks down at his plate then back up at me. 

“Sorry, is this gross to you? I haven’t had anything sweet in ages I might have over done it.”

I find another lump in my throat when I try to speak, and a corresponding tightness somewhere else reminds me why I wasn’t supposed to be looking so closely. I hide behind another long drink of tea but shake my head. “No, you’re fine. Just considering where to start.” 

He nods at me and sets about eating his toast. I watch him take several bites and drink a third cup of tea. He hums absentmindedly around a mouthful. “I don’t think I’ve ever had French toast.” 

I stop mid drink. “You’ve never had French toast?”

He pauses to think for a second then shakes his head and shrugs nonchalantly by way of explanation and takes another large bite. I consider my own miserable upbringing and recall several French toast breakfasts along the way. Albus was telling the truth about his relatives then. French toast isn’t exactly a necessity, but if someone as vile as my father could find it in his heart to feed me French toast and Harry’s couldn’t, nor evidently buy him clothes, it begs the question, why is he who he is? To think that someone could receive so little incentive to be a good human being and not only be one but be a shining example of good among such scum… I set my tea down loudly. I’m losing my nerve, he’s unraveling my resolve. It’s now or never. 

“He summoned me to Malfoy Manor.” He drops another piece of toast on his plate and gives me his full attention. He even stops chewing, though he has roughly half a piece of toast packed away in his cheek. A large glob of chocolate syrup and whipped cream sits unnoticed on the corner of his mouth. I resist the urge to take care of it for him. “Keep eating. You’ve got syrup on your mouth.” He blushes beautifully and grabs his napkin to quickly dab at his face. He only smears it but I ignore it for the time being. “There were nearly a hundred of His followers there when I arrived. I knew something was wrong immediately. It would have just been a few of us had it been what I originally thought. He took me aside, to discuss something in private…” I tamp down returning anxiety and my own discomfort at sharing this experience with another. I have never shared an experience with Voldemort with someone other than Dumbledore. When I look at him, I see a cool, determined sort of anger and understanding. He's been in His presence under the absolute worst of circumstances countless times. He likely understands better than Albus ever did. “He was… different. Changed. He seemed nearly delirious with excitement. It was in His tone of voice and actions. The look in His eye. The concept, the idea of Him having what He left to find, is frightening enough. But his excitement… he’s close. He's acting as though He’s already achieved what he’s set out to do. And stopping him before then… which is key… if He’s as close as He seems to think He is…” I can’t look at him. I can’t finish the sentence either. But I don’t think I left much to the imagination. “We'll do what we can. Of course. We're just… on a much tighter time schedule than previously imagined.” 

There's a silence between us. I won't look at him, can't. I feel as though I've let the world down and I’m confessing it to him. I can’t imagine what could be going through his head.

I hear his fork clink on his plate. I look over and find him gone back to eating. I’m stunned. “What is it? That he's after?” He doesn't look at me, I’m beginning to sense his fear. He’s trying to cover it up. To stay calm. I feel that odd sort of pride again. 

“You’ve likely never heard of it. It isn’t something they talk about in History of Magic, nor is it wide spread lore. Aside from the fact that most don’t even believe in it’s existence, it’s history is gruesome. Those in the know do not like to talk about it for that reason. That’s also likely what has drawn the Dark Lord to it.” I pause and take a sip of tea. “It’s called the Tridecus. At the dawn of what we consider modern magic, there were three wizards near Rome who lived, for a time, among Muggles and were treated as Gods. They may even have believed it themselves, comparatively they were. They called themselves Jupiter, Mars and Quirinus. They each specialized in their own brand of magic, combative, elemental and boundary manipulation. For whatever reason, they began to try to teach Muggles magic, failing every time. When they encountered Squibs for the first time, they thought they were succeeding as some were able to perform basic magic using their staffs and scepters. They decided that perhaps that was the problem, they were trying to use their own effects with others and they thought, perhaps, if they created a new artifact, others could use it. They decided to try to combine all of their magic inside the artifact so that whoever might use it could use all of the different types of magic they individually were adept at. Everything went badly after that. The artifact itself was… incredible. It was capable of wiping out an entire civilization in the blink of an eye, the ability to change the very earth beneath your feet, to bend space and travel through time and dimensions. But absolute power inevitably corrupts absolutely. Everyone that used it, including the creators… they went mad. And it required such enormous amounts of power to use… there were… human sacrifices, power harvesting, it’s rumored that that’s the origin of Dementors. Someone brought them over from another plane of existence to harvest souls as a power source for the Tridecus.” I pause and take in his pallor. He’s openly terrified now, no longer trying to hide it. I find myself at a loss for words.

He's quiet for a while. He contemplates a spot on my chest then looks back into my eyes. “You believe it's real?” 

“I didn't really… I wasn't sure but… He’s looked into it. Extensively. He's even given me a journal that makes mention of it… that’s… another thing.” I look away and take an awkward, constricted breath. He waits quietly while I fidget with my napkin and steel myself. “I might have some opportunity to stop Him. Or at the very least, stall Him. He's asked me to go over His research. I can try to manipulate His actions or perhaps I might even find the Tridecus before He does. It’s even possible that, in His absence, we can find the Horcruxes and destroy them and draw Him back here. But… He's left. Like I said before… and… to look through everything will take most of my time. And… He’s asked me to do something else. And I couldn't refuse. He would have killed me.” … How am I going to say this aloud? To him of all people?

“What?”

I still can't look at him. How can I say this? How can I do this? Maybe I should have simply allowed Him to kill me in the Malfoys tea room.

“He's asked me to take over for Him. While He’s gone.” 

There’s a stiff silence between us. I have been in situations where I was, more or less, counting the seconds until my death. I have witnessed deciding moments for the fates of countless others. I have even made some of those decisions myself. But nothing else has ever felt quite this tense. 

“Well… that’s actually kind of great.”

“Ex-… excuse me?”

“Er… well it’s going to be awful. You’ll have to… you’re going to be expected to… do a lot of awful things. But. You can maybe help some people too. And maybe… maybe you can find some other things out. Like… about the Horcruxes and… I dunno. It’s like you said earlier. You can… make the best of a bad situation. Really. Bad.” He looks uncomfortable and picks at his food with his fork. I can’t believe what I’ve just heard. I expected objections and anger and revulsion at my new responsibility. Instead he’s already plotting it’s best uses. Sounds practically Slytherin. 

But it takes sitting here with him, seeing him uncomfortable but relatively unimpressed with the news, to realize that the position isn't what I'm truly uncomfortable with. Of course the implications and expectations are disconcerting, I'll be in the spotlight much more frequently and I'll have to spend more of my time in unpleasant company, and it will be dangerous. But what I was really most concerned with was his reaction. And now that I know he’s not going to hate me for it, it becomes even more obvious that my primary objection to this job is that it will take me away from him and that I could no longer delude myself about how repulsive I myself am.

“You won’t be able to stay here anymore. I can't justify being in such a scrupulous position and associating with you. It would be too easy for someone to follow me here or track my movements. I’ll lead them right to you. And you can’t simply stay here, in a place no one knows about, alone. It isn’t any safer. We’ll all just worry about you. I can’t keep you safe any longer, I can’t keep disappearing unnoticed without explanation. I’ve called an Order meeting… we’ll all be gathering at the Burrow. I’m bringing Luna, I thought I’d take you there before I go back to Hogwarts for her. You can either stay there or go to Remus’s cottage but… this isn’t safe anymore. And after today… I can't… I can't in good conscience see you… or almost anybody else, again.”

He looks absolutely shocked but it gives way to anger. I try desperately to scrape together my nerve and every ounce of intimidating presence I can muster. This isn't optional, he has to accept this. 

“There's… so much wrong with everything you've just said,” he runs a hand through his attractively mussed hair and slouches back into his chair, “I thought you agreed with me? I thought you agreed that I had the right to decide what to do, that I could be on my own?” 

“That isn't what this is about. Obviously there's safety in numbers Harry, and you’re safer with your friends, but that isn't the only reason you shouldn't be on your own. The clock is ticking much faster now. You can't do this on your own, as much as I know you’d like to. You'll need help to find the Horcruxes. Even Dumbledore did. And I can't do it, I can't risk leading them to you.”

“But you can risk yourself? You can justify putting yourself in so much danger on your own?”

“It's my job, this is what I do for our cause.”

“And it’s what you've decided for yourself, you do this how you choose to. Alone.”

“Because it has to be so.”

“No. It doesn't. You could choose to come by and talk to me about what's happening, just like you did with Dumbledore. Just as you’re doing now.”

“With Dumbledore I had cause to be where I was. It wasn't suspicious to be in the castle or to go and see him. You can maybe see the difference between a teacher in a school and the leader of Death Eaters sneaking off into the woods to see Harry Potter.” 

“So because it's dangerous it's alright for you to go it alone but I can't. You don't want to worry about me but it's fine for me to worry about you. You might have noticed, one of us is in quite a bit more danger than the other on a day to day basis. You think the fact that you do this by choice, that you've been doing this all this time makes me worry less? Like the fact that it's for the greater good means I'll stop being afraid for you or stop caring?” 

He isn't wrong. But what he's said is so personal. He's moving this in a direction I won't be able to bear rejecting. “There isn't a choice here, Harry. This is what I have to do. I can't back out, I'll be busy nearly all of the time… the spare time that I have, I can't use it to come and update you. If I have anything to share, it will be crucial Order information. We’re not in this alone.” I can see the denial hurt him. His features turn stony, though he blushes slightly and he looks at the floor. I didn't want to do this, I can't do this to him, pretending not to care isn't an option. “You’re doing everything you can to keep the people you care about most as safe as possible. That's all I’m doing as well. We’re out of time, out of choices. You can't do this alone and I can't be there for you. You have to go back.” Please just accept it.

He stands up, places a hand on his chin, shaking his head he walks toward the entrance. “I can't. I can't just… accept that you have to do this alone, that you’re okay with that, that we just… won't hear from you unless you find a Horcrux or the Tridecus. That you'll just… be alone.” 

I consider carefully what to do next. He’s turned away from me, staring at his feet. I stand slowly and quietly, look to the kitchenette at the stack of books there, reminding myself not to go too far into detail, to hold back on what I really want to say. I’d likely bollix it up anyway. It’s done perfectly in the letter. I cross the small space between us quietly and hesitate before placing a hand gently on his right shoulder. He turns moodily, obviously upset with me and not very interested in any displays of tenderness on my part, which is not very surprising. I place my hands in my pockets and smirk down at him sadly. “I was alone, for nearly a year and wanted dead by most everyone around me. Every minute of every day was a coin toss. And then, for some unfathomable reason, a really good person took pity on me. And now I’m not alone anymore. Maybe I’m not surrounded by friends, but I’m not alone. Not really. I know you’ll worry about me like you worry about everything else, but you shouldn’t. I’ll be alright and your friends will make sure you are too. Being who you are, I’m certain you’ll do the same for them.”

He slowly smiles at me, and my eyes are drawn to the chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve still got something. Right here.” I mirror where it’s at on my own mouth and reach for my napkin on the table. When I hand it to him he dabs it on his tongue lightly, blushing and wipes at it several times, making absolutely no difference at all. I hesitantly take it from him and place the fingertips of my left hand delicately beneath his chin to steady him as I wipe it away. My heart trips and my breathing shallows at the intimacy of the action, but it’s over quickly enough so as not to become intoxicating. I release him and toss the napkin behind me on the table, then huff to release nervous tension. “You should probably collect your things. I don’t have long before I expect Luna back from the Hospital Wing. I just… thought you deserved to know what was happening before hand.” 

His blush is much deeper now. He clears his throat but doesn’t manage to speak afterwards. He simply turns and walks away, nodding. Something occurs to me suddenly.

“Wait! Uh… if you’re packing, you should put these books in your trunk. And… I would wait to unwrap the top one and… read the letter… until you’re alone.” I levitate the books over to him and am very glad I wrapped my mother’s book. He nods, takes them and walks away.

I exhale more slowly and use my wand to clear breakfast. It packs itself away in the basket and the dishes from tea, as well as the night before, begin washing themselves. I walk toward the living room, passing his open door on my way, where I see him looking into the sliver of glass I saw in the bathroom. I keep walking, ignoring my curiosity and consider my clothing on the floor. I think about simply leaving it but worry about the button. I bend down and select that white shirt from the pile of black clothing and marvel at everything that’s come from responding to it’s call. For better or worse, I’m back in the middle of things. And Harry and I are… friends. For lack of a better word. I can’t see why it mattered to him, Dumbledore. What good could possibly come of it? Harry will still die and I will be… torn to pieces. Why lie about it, especially to myself. Harry means so much to me already. Now that I can be honest with myself about him, he meant a great deal to me before yesterday. He is now… practically everything to me. And he’s going to die. I think… that I don’t want to live beyond that. What is there for me in the world beyond this? There is evidence now of my innocence, if we are successful in defeating Voldemort, and we must be, I’ll likely be allowed to go free in the Wizarding community once more… but that has never mattered. I was despised before I was a Death Eater, more so after, and who can blame people for the prejudices against their kind? It will not matter that I was a spy, what will matter is that I took the mark, willingly, nearly twenty years ago. I will be friendless once more… so what does any of this matter? Much like Harry, I suppose, I can only hope to die at the right time. After I’ve fulfilled my usefulness for him, hopefully before having to witness his end. 

“Are you ready?” The question holds more than one meaning for me but I try not to linger on what he isn’t asking. I turn and see that he’s changed out of his pajamas, his trunk hovers behind him.

“… Yes. You’ve got everything?”

He nods at the clothes at my feet and I nod back in acknowledgment, then pick the rest up. I walk past him and open the bathroom door to check for forgotten items. It’s empty, all signs of our presence removed. His trunk levitates between us and he holds my eye nervously. 

“Everything will be fine.”

He nods but looks more unsure, if anything. I sigh and take one last look around, pick the picnic basket up off the table and move for the exit. I hear him follow behind me but don’t look back. When the door swings open it’s much brighter out than when I arrived. I hope I’m not running late. I step out far enough to give Harry room to exit and look around, both to check our surroundings and enjoy the serene setting one last time. I don’t expect to be back anytime soon. The snow has finally stopped, and the silence that follows most heavy snowfalls makes it seem as if time is standing still. I turn back to Harry and find him holding his trunk, looking at me with some sort of determination on his face. I imagine it’s nerves, I doubt he’s overly thrilled to have to go back and I hope everyone makes an effort to welcome him in an especially gracious manner. I walk back to stand beside him and ignore the thrill I feel at another opportunity to be close to him. I place my wand in my right hand, along with the basket so as to take his arm with my left to disapparate away.

“Is it going to be too difficult to apparate with your trunk?”

“No, I think I’ve got it.” His voice is light and breathy, I’m surprised he’s so anxious about returning.

“Are you alright? Would you prefer to wait at Remus's cabin?” I feel a twinge of annoyance. I can’t stand the thought of Harry alone with him in that place.

He wrinkles his nose and my ego soars. He still prefers me, even on his way to Remus he doesn’t want to be with him. I fight off a smile before it can form. 

“No. I think I’d like to be at the meeting.”

I nod my approval and gently take his arm by the bicep. It is surprisingly solid and reminds me of his shirtless form from the night before. I quickly turn my thoughts in any other direction I can lest I splinch us on the way to the Burrow. The thought of that is enough to help me focus and I exhale low and slow, focusing on the Weasley’s frozen marsh which is the safest place to deposit Harry. The grass is tall enough for us to remain unseen until he’s roughly ten feet from the house. I glance at him and catch him staring at me again but ignore it. I have to get away from him before I do something stupid. 

“Ready?”

He nods and I close my eyes. My feet leave the ground my entire being is pressed from every side. I grip Harry's firm arm a little tighter, suddenly terrified I’ll lose him along the way but when my feet find solid purchase once more he’s still there, standing in tall grass with me, both of us hidden from sight in every direction. He drops his trunk on it’s side and places his hand on his stomach to catch his breath. I release his other arm and he puts it on his hip.

He looks at me and smirks. “I hate apparating.”

I don’t say anything, but I do smile back. I look up at the sky, it’s a little bluer here. A billow of smoke blows by and I can practically feel the cheer radiating from the direction of the house. Listening I can hear a few voices carried across the grass. I shudder to think that in short order, I’ll have the duty to break everyone’s good spirit.

“So… you’ll come back with Luna and tell everyone what’s happened and then… that’s it.”

I put my hands in my robe pockets and nod. We turn to face each other and I eye his zipper. I’m still bordering on losing my nerve, on telling him everything and hiding him back in that hole forever. How puerile. What has his influence done to me?

“Well…”

In one swift movement he’s before me, lower body against me, hand on my bicep and lips against mine. The kiss is inexperienced, too rough to start in his haste to surprise me but he pulls back and gentles his pressure against me after a moment. And he lingers, he doesn’t rush, it isn’t a peck. It is a kiss. And I kiss him back. All the reasons that it’s wrong and I shouldn’t only serve to make it more heated. This will be the only time, the only impropriety. I plan to make it count, to give my mind something to last. I put a hand on his shoulder, slide it down his arm and fee his strength again. I tilt my head slightly to find better purchase with my lips, which I part and dart my tongue across his lips for one single, sweet, forbidden taste. Chocolate and strawberries from breakfast mingled with tea and I barely suppress a sigh. He pulls back first, surprising me and I’m positive nothing and no one anywhere has ever looked quite so lovely as he does in that moment. His cheeks have gone crimson again, his lips are parted and moist from our kiss, his beautiful eyes wide and sparkling with desire. How I ever got so lucky, I can’t possibly understand, but I know that I’ll cherish this moment above all others for as long as I live. 

“I just… I had to know.”

I think hard on what to say. My brain’s gone static. “Had to know what?” I’m lucky to have formed words.

“What it felt like. To kiss you.”

I can’t say anything, can’t believe this is happening to me. I’m terrified suddenly, this feels like some cruel joke. I wait for the other shoe to drop, for him to suddenly be James Potter’s son for once in his life.

He beams at me, toothy and uncouth and radiant. “It was… probably the best moment of my life. Better than flying.” He’s short of breath and looks at his shoes. My heart’s bleeding. I rush forward, drop the picnic basket and embrace him one last time. I hold him to me as if our lives depend on it. This will be so much more difficult now but it has to be done. I am, once again, so happy to have written that note, ecstatic to have gone to him inebriated and uninhibited and terrified for what the future holds. But whatever happens, whatever comes next, we’ll both have this. This one brief, happy moment. He hugs me back and inhales deeply against me. I bury my face in his impossible hair and kiss the top of his head. We stay that way for the space of several heartbeats and when I finally begin to let go, it pains me. My breath catches and when I look at his face I see my hurt reflected back up at me. 

I shake my head and wave my wand to retrieve the basket. “I’m sorry… Harry. I wish…” I don’t know what to say. There’s simply too much to be said. 

“I know. Me too.” He nods and gives me a sad sort of grin. He puts his hands in his pockets and looks back into my eyes seeking reciprocating hurt and need and I’m sure he finds it. 

I can’t think of anything meaningful enough to say in parting. Actually I can, but it's all in the letter. So I stick with our usual. “I’ll be back. Be safe.” The corner of my mouth turns up and he smiles back.

“Yeah. You too.” I don't want to close my eyes, don't want to think about anything other than him and what's just happened. But I have to. I have to do worse than that, I have to let him go and commit to never feel him again. So I take one last, lingering look, soak in his presence and his youth and his beauty before taking the first small steps down this long, dark road. I exhale and think of my office, the lonely, haunted feel of it and all the lack of it’s former glory. I find myself whisked away and when I can breathe again, I hate the place all the more. I ache at the very core of my being. Actually, it’s more than an ache, it’s a scalding, consuming, hurricane of fire. A rat, chewing through my chest. I stop for a second to wonder if I’m having a heart attack. I lean heavily on the guest chair nearest me, before my desk to catch my breath. What is this? What’s happened to me? In the course of a single day I’ve become this infatuated with him? Is it even possible to become this obsessed with another person, to literally ache for them this way? It’s as if my very heart’s been torn away from me. Am I…

Am I in love with him?

“Professor?”

She startles a small yelp from me which is beyond strange. I’m quite used to people surprising me with their presence. I attribute it to my last thought. I look at a clock at the back of my office and find it’s ten till ten.

“Miss Lovegood. Forgive my tardiness.”

“It’s alright. Professor… or do you prefer Headmaster?”

I stagger around the chair to sit. “Professor is fine.” My breathing is beginning to even out, the pain lessens and the emptiness in my chest fills back in… but that question lingers.

“Are you feeling alright? You’re quite pale.” 

“I think so I just… something odd came over me as I apparated I think.” I take a moment to collect myself and take stock. Something at the center of me feels… bruised maybe. Tender. As if it’s been beaten. I’d almost say it was my heart but it doesn’t feel quite so. It’s the same thing that sang when Harry kissed me. The same thing that springs to life when he smiles and that clenches when I think of Remus. Whatever it is… it’s dangerous. It’s consuming and addictive. Every thought of Harry feeds it and every moment in his presence helps it to grow. It’s good that we’re done. That this over now, before an answer to that ridiculous thought could form. Do I love him…

“You look as though you’re about to be ill.”

“I might be.” I’d felt fine before. In the field. Better than fine. I can't understand what's wrong with me, but I don't want to waste anymore time worrying about it. I’d like to be done with this day. I'd like to go to bed. I stand slowly, feeling weak suddenly and nauseous. I move around my desk and open the top center drawer. It’s magically connected to the gargoyles mouth at the base of the stairs and acts as a sort of mailbox which is highly convenient. There’s nothing there, no further correspondence. I tap the knob of the left hand drawer, it reveals a one. Just Luna. Something to be grateful for. I take a deep, steadying and look her over. She’s still pale, she is clean though and has changed her clothes. She looks at me suspiciously still and I'll be glad to prove her wrong. But I can't blame her for being cautious. 

“What did I tell you I would do once you'd seen Madam Pomfrey?”

She tilts her head to the side questioningly but then answers. “You said you’d take me wherever I’d like to go.”

I walk over to her and lean in. “Where is that?”

She thinks on her answer, “I’d like to be… somewhere safe. With friends.” 

I’m glad she did not ask to be taken home. And I'm glad she didn't say anything incriminating. I nod approvingly. “Are you ready to go?” 

I can sense her excitement. When she nods her great mass of blonde hair waves and she bounces on her heels a bit. I'm tired in general but especially so of apparating. I take her arm and concentrate on the Burrows opposite side. I don’t want to spoil Harry's memory with another persons presence in that spot. When we arrive I find the door open and Tonks on the porch with Fred and George. All three heads turn our way and then back to each other. Fred and George begin discussing something amongst themselves and Tonks walks to meet us. When we’re about to cross what I know to be the boundary for the wards she flicks her wand up into my face and smiles. 

“Ey, Snape. Luna.” She nods at her but doesn’t break eye contact with me. “What was it, that you said to me at our first Order meeting together?” 

“That you enunciated better with the mouth of a duck.” She laughs, just like she did when I said it and I successfully fight off a smile. It’s easy. I suddenly want to see Harry very badly and that tender thing twinges. What is happening? “What did you say back to me?”

“That you came by your bill naturally.” Luna giggles and she gestures to her. “I suppose you checked her out.”

“Of course.”

She puts her wand away. “Come on in.”

We step past the barrier once invited and once through, the tender thing in me relaxes some, but I still feel anxious. I decide there’s no harm in asking. “I assume Harry made it in alright.” Luna’s head snaps around when I say his name. So does Tonks. I suppose I should have said Potter. I feign nonchalance and they forget easily enough. 

“Yeah. Though he wasn’t feeling well. He said his chest hurt and he sort of had a hard time breathing for a moment. It passed but… it was scary. Said he guessed he just had to much sweet stuff for breakfast.” I slow my walking then come to a stop. This is not normal. Something’s happened. I try desperately to recall anything about this in that book I found but I can’t. Is this something that Dumbledore’s done to us? Does this have anything to do with what’s in that pensieve? 

“The same thing happened to you Professor. Did you eat too many sweets as well?”

Could it have been the breakfast? Nothing had tasted or smelled or looked off. Dobby wouldn’t…

I remember the look he gave me. He didn’t poison us. Or we’d be dead, surely. He must have done something though…

“Is he alright now?” I look at Tonks who looks as surprised as she might if I were wearing hot pink.

“Er… yeah. He just had a sit and some tea and was feeling better pretty quickly. He said it still twinged a bit but-“

“What twinged?”

“Well he couldn’t really say, just his chest.”

Exactly the same. This is not good. What do I do? Should I talk to Harry? … No. I haven’t a clue what’s going on. I’ll only scare him. I’ll keep this to myself until I figure out what’s happened. Besides, whatever it was, maybe it was just a one time occurrence, something foolish the elf did to try to trick us into believing ourselves in love. Some obscure love potion or something like that…

“Is everything alright? Luna said the same thing happened to you? You don’t think you’ve been… poisoned do you?” 

I shake my head. “No. I don't think so. Likely just indigestion.”

“Where did you get that breakfast?”

“Dobby, the house elf.”

Reassurance smooths her worried expression. “Oh, alright then. He would never…” she begins to reconsider possibilities and circumstance in which he might and I begin walking again. 

“I think we're alright. I believe breakfast was just too rich, neither of us has eaten very well for the last few days.” 

No one says anything behind me but I get the feeling they believe that about as much as I do. I'll have to figure this out quickly.

Fred and George fold their arms across their respective chests as I pass. Neither of them greet me, which I ignore and continue on into the Burrows living room. It's packed full, but that isn't saying much in this cozy domicile. Maybe a dozen people, most of them Weasley's. I fight off my despair. All it takes is a few good men. This isn't completely hopeless, not yet. My presence is noticed, suddenly, and the room goes quiet. No one moves, and no one looks away. In each and every face, I see the accusation, and with every accusation I relive that moment, watch him fall from the tower again and again. I hear footsteps on the stairs and look up to see the only person who could ever ease the burden of that horror. He smiles down at me, apologetically. 

“Professor Snape.” He continues down, Granger and the two youngest Weasley's in tow. They all look apprehensive, but far less angry than the rest of the crowd, whose eyes are on Harry now. I wonder how he can bear to be stared at so often as he is. I used to think he reveled in his fame. Knowing him better now I imagine he feels much the same as me, though I have to admit he handles the attention much better than I ever could. As Harry moves toward me through the assembly, my attention is drawn to that wounded thing in my chest. It feels… awoken, stirring, almost excited. But it aches all the more, like the stretching of an over used muscle. Before it had been just a dull reminder of the pain I’d felt upon arriving at my office. Now it feels as though it is a living thing, writhing in anticipation of his presence. If I’m being honest, it is frightening. What’s been done to us? Does he feel this too? When he reaches me he dips his head at me, a fair bit of mischief in his eye and holds out his right hand for me to shake. I recognize the importance of it. Everyone here has heard that Harry witnessed me killing Dumbledore. If Harry himself is offering his hand here, before everyone, who are they to condemn me? I take it and shake it once to no small amount of whispering. We hold the clasp perhaps a second longer than necessary, but no one seems to notice. Momentous as this is, my welcome back to the side of good, I can think only of the being in my chest. It squirms delightedly at the coarse texture of his hand, bubbles when I meet his eye, does cartwheels when he doesn’t walk away after we’re done greeting each other. People are still watching us, but several conversations have picked back up. Among them I hear our names repeated, but I’m more curious to know if he feels anything at our reunion. I watch him from the corner of my eye as Tonks, Fred, George and Luna enter the room. When he sees her, his face lights up but he looks up at me and inches almost imperceptibly closer.

Still he calls out. “Luna! You’re alright!” 

Hermione rushes forward to hug her and she nods. Suddenly I find myself part of a small circle, consisting of the Gryffindor trio plus Luna. 

“I am. Thanks to him.” She graces me with a dreamy blue gaze then looks back to Harry. Hermione and Ron look at me as if I’ve sprouted polka dots and Harry blushes down at his shoes. 

“Are you alright? Tonks said you weren’t feeling well. Neither was Professor Snape when he got back to his office.”

He looks at me in surprise and I curse the girl mentally. “I feel fine now. As I said before, likely just mild indigestion.” I’m fighting a blush and I feel I might be losing, but I can’t pass up the opportunity. I look Harry over, he’s a little pale beside his semi permanent rosy cheeks. “Are you feeling alright?”

He looks awe struck and curious but nods, then rubs his breastbone directly above where my own errant creature lives. “I feel loads better… now.” His eyes flick down to my chest and he looks away. I do too. Certain if I don’t that we’ll give something away. But the others are talking amongst themselves, Luna regaling the tale of her capture and Hermione and Ron clinging to her every word. Harry and I glance in unison behind us where Tonks, Fred and George are busy entertaining Fleur and Bill. No one seems to be paying any attention to us. 

He looks back to his friends then inches ever so slightly closer to me. Close enough that I can hear him whisper. “It happened to you too?”

I shrug, “What happened to you?”

“It was like… the minute you left I felt like… like I’d been shot or…” he blushes. “Like my heart had been crushed, still in my chest I guess. It was almost like when a Dementor comes after you. Like… I couldn’t breathe and everything was lost. But it hurt. It hurt all the way until we… shook hands.” He looks at me, questioning whether or not I felt the same thing, and while I didn’t think of it that way, it’s true. I felt a dull ache, all the way up until he touched my hand and now… nothing. At least… how I usually feel with Harry. Just the usual good, light… happiness.

“Yes. I felt the same.” I fold my arms and sigh. Why is nothing ever easy with him? Why can’t anything be straightforward and simple?

“What is it? What do you think happened?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But… I don’t think it’s anything… well especially bad, at least. We’re both still alive. So… I’ve a few ideas I’ll look into. Maybe it was… just a… one time thing.” He catches the insinuation, that maybe we were both just being overly sentimental because of the nature of our departure, but I can see he doubts that just as much as I do. He takes a step back and looks around. He looks as uncomfortable as I feel and I regret that I can’t shelter him from his own loved ones. But it’s only for today. He can leave for Remus’s cottage just as soon as we’re done here and keep his associations to a minimum. 

“Is everyone here?” He nods and I try to express my understanding of his unhappiness with eye contact alone. He gives a reassuring smirk and though we’re surrounded by people who’ll likely drop dead if they see it, I smile back. “Shall I get on with it?” He chuckles softly and I hold up my wand, cast the strongest repellent ward I know, causing the house to rumble slightly. Everyone looks at me and Harry goes to join his friends, barely concealed pride in his eyes. I cast Sonorous as well and clear my throat.

“Ladies and gentleman of the Order of the Phoenix, I know you have questions and I’m willing to talk to each and every one of you personally before we leave here. But first… we have an emergency, and it changes everything…”


	10. Unity

No one speaks as I talk. I tell them everything Voldemort told me, and everything that he expects of me. After a brief glance at Luna, I even tell them about Ollivander and Griphook. Still no one says a word. Several people exchange meaningful looks but no one interrupts. I finish by telling them what I plan to do to try to stop him. I know that the majority of them don’t know about the Horcruxes and don’t need to. But I can tell them how I can try to prevent him gaining access to the Tridecus. And I reassure them that I can use my new position in Voldemort’s ranks to help everyone, to keep more people safe, that I’ve already told him that as we search for Harry, we should be more careful who we harm. He's expecting a decrease in violence and we can use the calmer atmosphere to our advantage. We can get more people to safety, use the time to figure out how best to defeat him, perhaps even begin to take back the ministry. That this can be the beginning of the end if we hurry to defeat him, but we need to get as many people to safety as possible first and all do our part to keep Harry safe. When I've finished, most look satisfied with what I’ve said, but there are some who look more dubious when I finish than when I started.

Sturgis Podmore, blonde, tan and fit as ever, steps out from behind Kingsley Shacklebolt. “I’m sorry, what exactly are we all doing here? Are we honestly standing here listening to the Death Eater that killed Dumbledore?”

“I can vouch for him.” Harry stands with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. 

“So can I. He did so at Dumbledore's request.” To my surprise, it’s Remus, standing in the back, alone, near the kitchen who speaks up. Harry starts at the sound of his voice and their eyes meet across the room. Remus looks away almost as soon as they do and locks eyes with me. He looks as tired as I feel and I imagine he was up last night as well. A murmur goes out across the room. My jealousy flares but I remember the way Harry’s nose wrinkled when I mentioned Remus earlier. Out of my peripheral I see Harry shift awkwardly, chewing the corner of his thumb. It reminds me to deal with Lupin later, before Harry has to rely on him.

Bill Weasley speaks out next. “Why would Dumbledore ask you to kill him?”

“He’d been cursed. There wasn’t any way to remove it. I slowed it’s progress, but he would have been dead by now regardless. The Dark Lord ordered Draco Malfoy to kill him, and to maintain my position as a spy I was forced to make an Unbreakable Vow that, were he unable to, I would do so in his place. Dumbledore himself asked me to keep Draco from being forced to do such… it was the only way, as far as he was concerned.” 

Studying my audiences faces I see mixed reactions, Ginny Weasley and her parents beside her look convinced. Kingsley and Sturgis whisper frantically to each other and shoot furtive glances toward me. Fred, George, Luna and Tonks all look between Harry and myself poker faced, which is definitely not comforting. I’m surprised to find Remus one of my few supporters, though I wonder about his motives. He isn’t looking at me or Harry, rather scanning the room in much the same way as I.

“If he wasn’t who he says he is,” Remus's voice cuts over the dull clamor, “why would he not have taken Harry to the Dark Lord already? He had an entire night to do so and yet here they are.” It brings to mind what I said to him hours earlier. It’s said much more gently than I said it, but the point stands.

“How do we know this isn’t somehow part of You Know Who’s plan? That he’s going to need Harry for whatever he’s doing and Snape's just got him for safe keeping.” This is George, looking at me as though he’d like nothing better than to throw me out on my ass. 

“He’s got plenty of space to hold someone for as long as he’d like to. He doesn’t need Professor Snape for that.” Luna's voice is delicate as ever, but it carries as if she’d yelled. Perhaps it was simply the statement itself. 

“So, what? We’re just to take him at his word? He’s a professional liar and we’re just to believe him?” Podmore seems steadfast in his distrust, though Kingsley’s expression suggests he’s coming around.

“It’s not just his word. Dumbledore left me memories.” Harry looks prepared to Hex Sturgis blind. I’m moved that he cares so much but I’m also worried about the surprised looks on his friends faces. His defensive attitude where I’m concerned might not raise any suspicions currently but it's sure to draw attention. Although, I suppose there isn’t really anything to pay attention to, this is done, it’s over, we're-

My chest twinges, burns. Someone else is talking but I can’t quite bring myself to pay attention. 

“Memories can be faked!” Sturgis looks at Harry pleadingly. But then Remus is responding and I hope explaining away whatever questions anyone else might have.

While the pain is distracting, I’m more concerned with the cause of it. Had it flared back to life because I was thinking about Harry? I wasn’t just thinking about Harry though, I was thinking that… there wouldn’t be anything between us. My chest tingles with effervescent fire. Is it correlation or causation? I look at Harry, not at all secretively this time. His brow is furrowed, his hand palm down on the center of his chest. He’s looking back at me and I fold my arms and place a hand on my chest, copying his stance to let him know I feel it to. One thing is certain, we both feel this in unison when it springs to life. It’s a connection between us. I look back at Remus, who looks angry as well now and drag my attention back to the conversation. Until I can figure this out, perhaps best not to think of… him. But it doesn’t seem to matter. It burns away, no matter that I’m not thinking of him. No matter how hard I try to focus on the subject at hand, the fire in my chest rages on which drags my thoughts back to him.

Sturgis is still arguing with Remus, though he appears to be the only unconvinced party. “It doesn’t matter what you or anyone else has to say about it. After my experience at the Ministry, there’s only one thing could make me trust him.” He turns away from Remus and fixes me with a smug, challenging stare. 

I know where this is going. If I have to do it I will, but Merlin help me it will be nerve wracking. If anyone asks me any poorly worded question, or anything at all in regards to Harry… I rub my chest and take a steadying breath. 

“I am willing.” 

Sturgis's eyes widen and he shifts his weight. “You’re bluffing.” 

“Bluffing about what? What are you willing to do?” Harry, who appears now to be holding himself more than simply standing with his arms folded, looks frantically between us. 

“Sturgis here was just beginning to demand that I take Veritaserum.” 

Harry looks positively galled. “You want to give a spy who might be called away to You Know Who’s side at any moment Veritaserum?” 

“It’s unlikely that I’ll be called back today. Besides, I have a small stash of antidote.”

“Maybe it’s for the best.” Hermione puts a hand on Harry's shoulder. She gives me a knowing gaze that makes my stomach tremble nervously. “No one could question his loyalty after that. And it would only take a few questions. No one here will take advantage of its influence.” She adds the last quietly, features set seriously as she looks him in the eye. He gapes at her and she looks at me sternly. I remain stone faced, I’ll admit to nothing. For as long as I can, anyway. But leave it to perceptive Hermione to pick up on something first.

“Where would we even get any?” Ron asks it and when I look at him he flushes and takes a step back as if I might come after him.

“He’s the Potions Master, bet he’s got some.” Sturgis scowls at me. 

“Unfortunately my stores have been depleted recently.”

“Oh yeah, wonder if that’s got anything to do with the bleeding prison you’re calling a school.” 

The crippling guilt I feel about the state of Hogwarts stills my tongue. It even effectively drowns out the fire in my chest, which surprisingly leaves me feeling cold and empty. Normal. 

“Nothing to say about that, eh? Dumbledore didn’t tell you to torture the children too did he?”

Ginny’s mother puts an arm around her shoulders as she stares at the floor. My chest tightens and my heart hammers. 

“That you have the nerve to set foot in this house after what happened to her, what you let go on in that school, that’s all I need to know about you.”

I can say nothing in defense of myself. It’s true, all of it. There is no defense against the truth. Dark, repugnant creature that I am, I deserve this. That any of them would be accepting of me is either idiocy or a farce. I could never deserve it, could never deserve even the smallest kindness from these people. I never should have thought of this as a return to their side. I won’t accept it if they try to welcome me back. I can’t. I only mean to try to atone for my many sins, to redeem my debt to Albus and to help Harry. And Harry, Gods, Harry. That kiss. How could I have kissed him back so without thought? As if it was excusable because he initiated it, as if it mattered that it was just once. To even consider such a thing is despicable, but that I allowed it to happen, allowed myself to enjoy it, to kiss him back... unforgivable. I would have thought that I could not be a worse person but I simply continue to prove myself wrong. How shameful, disgusting, abhorrent and foul can a person become before they cease to exist in human form and complete the transition into garbage?

“Dumbledore asked him to keep up his position at the cost of his own life. If he were to lose it now, Dumbledore would have died for nothing. What would you have him do differently?” Harry sounds rather breathless and I break eye contact with Sturgis to look at him. He’s pale, still holding his chest and looks to be breathing unevenly. Everyone else is too caught up in the exchange to notice. Before I can open my mouth to ask if he’s alright Sturgis sets back in.

“If I’d been as close to You Know Who as you have for all this time, I would have killed him by now! There wouldn’t be a question of maintaining my position as a spy because he’d be dead!”

“If Dumbledore himself couldn’t manage what makes you think you’d fare any better?” Remus again, and Podmore whirls on him, incensed. I’ve only got eyes for Harry though, as he seems to be worsening by the second. 

“Oh, enough already! Honestly. I’ve got some Veritaserum in my bag.” Hermione huffs, obviously annoyed, as she brushes past Harry and stomps toward the stairs, Ron in tow. She locks eyes with me and tips her head toward Harry as she goes. “Seems a shame to waste it but I suppose if I don’t we’ll stand here and argue to the end of the war!” Several people chuckle but I don’t even feel like cracking a smile. Harry has finally noticed me watching him and shakes his head at me while rubbing his chest. I glance the room and find Sturgis arguing with Kingsley and Remus. Everyone has gone back to talking amongst themselves. I take the two steps between us and lean toward Harry as he turns toward me.

“Where can we go to talk?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not.”

“I will be. It will go away, like before.”

Curious I'm not feeling this. I feel back to my usual self. Just a vague sort of sorrow and self loathing. “Does it feel like before to you?”

“I thought you…?”

I shake my head. He looks a tad more frightened. “Not quite… it’s… it really hurts.”

He let’s out a ragged breath and presses his hand harder against his chest. I should never have allowed anyone else to cook for us. What could I have been thinking? I suppose I wasn’t. I was busy being a selfish idiot, getting drunk for the hell of it. Looking at Harry in pain, at what I’ve done, I hate myself all the more. To think I let myself touch him-

He sucks in a breath of air through his teeth and clutches his jacket. He bends at the waist slightly. “It’s- ugh, it’s bad.” 

“Do you need hospital?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

What had helped earlier? We’d both hurt all the way until we shook hands. I cast my eyes about and step ever so slightly closer, close enough that my robes hide the space between us, and place a hand on his left arm. He unfolds his arms and drops both to his side. No one behind him is facing us and there’s no one to the left, so it seems safe enough. I slide my hand down his arm and take his hand in mine, interlacing our fingers. He sighs lightly and sways toward me. I glance about again, amazed that no one is noticing this. The conversations have risen to a dull roar of argument. 

“I really think we should go somewhere alone, while we can, and talk about this. There’s no where?” 

“Well, there’s one place but… won’t Hermione be right back?” 

“She knows something’s going on. She practically winked at me on her way out of the room.”

“Won’t everyone be suspicious why you disappeared just before getting dosed?”

“They can go fuck themselves. You’re more important.” 

This surprises a laugh from him and his big green eyes glitter up at me. He glances the room then nods toward the door. “Alright, follow me.”

As we leave I see Luna and Tonks watching us. Both smile at me and I’m thankful to have at least a few allies here. Harry goes right off the porch and looks back over his shoulder at me and smirks before breaking into a light jog toward the Weasley garden. I laugh at him mentally but don’t buy into his flirtation. I can’t. For his sake. He stops jogging and as he rounds the corner of their house, I see his hand go to his chest again. When I catch up he's opening the door of a small shed attached to their home. He looks at me and grins apologetically.

“Good enough?”

“It's private.” 

I cast a Revelation charm and several dirty, tattered ears attached to each other by long flesh toned rubber tubes roll into a pile in the middle of the space. While I try to make sense of what I’m seeing, Harry begins laughing.

“They’re Fred and George’s. They’re for eavesdropping.”

I disintegrate them with no small amount of pleasure and hold the door open for Harry. He steps inside and I follow, closing the door behind myself. 

“Make a habit of destroying other peoples property?” 

“Those looked a little as if someone had beat me to it. Besides, I think they’ve moved beyond need of ratty ears kept in a shed.”

I cast Muffliato wordlessly and he looks at me hesitantly. There’s something appealing about this small space and the light leaking in through the gaps in the walls. I decide it’s best to just get this done quickly, before he can get any ideas or this gets any more uncomfortable. 

“It’s worse than before?” 

“Yeah. I was fine and then… it started back up and I thought you felt it too?”

“I did. I felt something, for a moment. When I looked at you and crossed my arms.”

“It got worse, WAY worse when Sturgis started talking about Hogwarts. It started out… it felt like I’d swallowed a block of ice. But then… instead of melting it was… freezing my insides. I just… felt cold and hard but it burned. Like frostbite. And I… I just…”

He looks at me then looks at my chest and shakes his head. He’s quiet for a while.

“What is it?” 

“... Well. Before… when it first happened, I felt empty. But… empty like something had been taken from me. This felt like… like there was nothing to take. Like there never had been. It felt… like a hole had opened up in me and just… everything good had gone there to die... and… I hated myself. I just felt… worthless. I’ve never felt that way before… But it was while Sturgis was talking… and I hated him too so I just focused on that. And I thought… maybe what he was saying was why I felt that…” he tugs his lower lip with his teeth and looks at me from under his bangs, “but you said you didn't feel anything, right?”

He's right. He feels what he feels because I’m feeling it. But this is normal to me, I simply didn't think anything of it. Does that mean that we can sense each others emotions? Is that what this is? I suppose that’s hardly what should bother me. I shouldn’t so much be concerned with understanding how this works, rather, figure out what’s happening and how to stop it.

“Did it help? When I… held your hand?”

He shrugs. “Some… I felt something… but also kind of worse. And then I felt better when we left but it sort of… well, it feels like a twitch or something.” He rubs his chest absently as he speaks and focuses on nothing in particular. “Like just every so often it feels like it’s trying to expand and take over. Almost like when I feel or think something good right after I just… feel bad. Like… guilty. But I… I just don’t understand. I don’t know why I’m feeling this, it doesn’t make any sense…” His eyes go wide behind his glasses and he drops his hand. “Is it- do you think it could be You Know Who?! Do you think he’s found a way back in? I-“ He cuts off with a grunt, like the wind was knocked out of him and clutches his chest again, as guilt washes over me at his fearful expression. His pain only makes me feel more guilty and he groans again. I’m beginning to feel a little panicked as well. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening but knowing neither why nor how to stop it, I’m becoming desperate for a short term solution. I’ll settle for comforting him, or trying to.

“It isn’t Him, Harry. Calm down, breathe.” 

He’s leaned over, panting. “It has to be, what else could this be?”

My emotions feel like the Dark Lords? Gods, I’m just… the worst. In every way. He shudders and grunts. Oohh, shit. Right. Making things worse, feeling too much. So… try for feeling nothing. I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. Master Occlumens that I am, seeing Harry like this is jarring enough that I can’t quite clear my mind, which adds somewhat to the panic, which compounds the problem. Calm down, idiot, think. You can’t clear your mind so what can you do? Distract, think of something… something good that leaves you with a good feeling, maybe he’ll feel that too. Something overpowering, overwhelmingly good. My mind is in short supply of such things, but recent events have provided several. I think of him coming down the stairs, the feeling it gave me when he shook my hand in front of everyone, his playful smirk, the one he gave me on the way here. The same from last night in his bedroom, standing by that bed shirtless and brazen. 

Tendrils of warmth spread through my chest in waves. He looks up at me, breathing more normally, examining my face, an eyebrow quirked. I place my hands confidently on his arms and straighten him. We lock eyes. This is what the connection needs, this is how I help Harry. I know what I need to feel for him to feel better.

The way he’d looked by firelight and in that bed, how good he always looks, even with chocolate smeared on his face. Even when he smelled like troll. How happy he makes me feel, even making me forget why I should never be allowed to feel so. How badly I wanted to touch him, how incredible it felt to do so, how marvelous it was to realize he wanted me to, and then that kiss. Every second of it, even my mouth pressed against my teeth, and to look at him after… how every moment spent with him feels more fantastic than the last. Even now, confused and a little afraid, it’s alright. I’ve got another fleeting moment with Harry. Never mind the rest of it, this is for him. It’s as though the sun has taken up residence in my chest now. Waves of warmth and desire are at war within me. Half of me wants simply to hold him and the other half wants to kiss him senseless and run away with him. I’m too concerned with his well being to give in to either urge and I settle on watching him for any sign of discomfort.

“What did you do?”

“Do you feel better?”

“Gods, yes, loads. I feel… amazing. Like I… like I did earlier.” He flushes a little but curiosity brings his focus back to what happened. “You fixed it, right? What did you do?”

“I just… stopped feeling that way.”

“What do you mean? I thought you didn’t feel it.”

“I didn’t think that I did either but… that’s how I know it wasn’t the Dark Lord. It was me.”

“I think if you’d felt that you would have known all along. It was absolute torture.

It makes me uncomfortable to share this… I don't want his pity but I think I can prevent the worst of it. “If not, then why do you feel better now?” 

He's quiet as he considers me. Suddenly, something happens to the sun in my chest. It dims a little, as if clouds have moved in. And the ache returns. I feel a pull of some sort. A need. I find I’m still holding him by his upper arms and allow myself the simple pleasure of sliding my hands down his them. I plan to stop at his forearms but find him suddenly tugging my arms around his body. He plants himself against me, burrows his head under my chin. The sun brightens and my stomach flip flops. I refuse to call that quiver butterflies. Severus Snape does not feel butterflies.

“Why did you feel that way?”

“A lot of reasons.”

“If this is because of Sturgis, he’s wrong. Sturgis is a prat.”

I say nothing, simply focus on the feeling of his body against mine. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before, even though I’ve felt it several times. We fit together perfectly. I hold him closer and linger on and truly appreciate every passing emotion I feel. Most of all, the happiness, though I do hope that he can feel all of it. 

“I feel that way a lot of the time for a lot of reasons. But I don’t feel that way now. So don't think about it anymore.”

“How can you expect me not to think about it? How can you ever think of anything else?” I can feel his heart ache beginning to try to dismantle my joy. I rub his back, nuzzle into his hair and feel something stir in my chest that I don’t know a word for though it leaves me breathless.

“I’ve felt that way for a long time… it’s zero for me. Really.”

“That’s supposed to make me forget about it?”

“No. What you’re feeling now should make you forget about it. I don’t feel that way now. I haven’t felt that way for most of the last day. I’ve felt like this.”

“Why's that?”

“Isn’t that rather obvious?”

“… Me?”

I don’t respond, feeling foolish suddenly.

“… You’re… this is how I make you feel? This is how you… feel about me?”

I don't say anything. I hold my breath, try not to feel nervous or panic. I don’t really know how he feels about me. I know that he kissed me. I know that whatever happened to us when I left earlier, we both felt better when we reunited. But none of that means he feels… this, about me. Or anything even close. I was so worried about making him feel better that I hadn’t even thought about what I was doing… revealing my feelings to him like this, I’ve just confessed to everything beyond any measure of doubt. He pulls away and I let him go. He stares up at me in awe, his features not revealing much else. He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything and closes it again, then looks down at his feet. This is it, my worst nightmare, the reason I never open up to anyone. All I can do now, especially because of this connection, is do my best not to be too hurt by the rebuff. After all, I can’t blame him for being scared off by this. It’s so much and it happened so fast. I’m honestly a little frightened of it myself. I could never expect someone of his age to feel this way, or someone like him to reciprocate, period. I don’t think too in depth about that though, in fact, I find that how he feels matters very little. It doesn’t change how much I care, if he doesn’t feel the same I’ll go on caring just as much, in just the same way. So I hold onto it like a lifeline. I focus intently on it, let it absolve my terror and doubt and fill me up. Harry looks back up at me, seeming shy and uncertain.

“Is it? Is that how you feel about me?”

“It is.”

He nods and looks at my chest, then back at his shoes. “You’re… you’re sure?”

Kind of an odd question. “... Yes.” 

He nods again and his mouth twitches at the corners. I can handle most any reaction he might have to this but if he laughs at me I may hex him.

He breaks out in a wide grin and chuckles softly. I roll my wand in my hand considering what I would enjoy most, watching him drag himself back to the Weasley’s on his stomach with useless legs or a tongue three sizes too big. But just as I’ve decided on both, I feel something added to my own feelings. It’s mixed with fear and feels fragile, but still strong. It feels as though it burrows a hole through my own emotions and spreads tentatively there. It's… like hope. It’s bittersweet, happy, excited and even relieved but there’s a sadness there, cautious and insecure. It’s confusing when added to my own offense and general adulation. 

But then he looks up at me, still grinning, eyes glittering excitedly even in this dim light, he studies my face intently. “You’re really sure? I make you feel that way?”

“Yes, Harry, yes! Try to keep up and for Merlin’s sake would you please say something else!”

He throws himself at me and wraps his arms around my neck. He nuzzles against my jaw, into my hair. I take the brunt of his weight, he’s obviously on the tip of his toes, just barely not dangling from my shoulders. I laugh in surprise and hug him back. In that moment I feel something like the simultaneous bloom of thousands of flowers or the rupture of a dam. I’m flooded with the best feeling I have ever experienced, it feels like the internalization of every good thing I have ever known, like all at once those experiences were transmuted into feeling and released like wildfire. Like an explosion of purity that edifies my being and fills me with relief and… I suppose ardor. I huff as it startles my breath away from me. Harry does so too but blows a breathy chuckle against my skin as well. 

“God, I’m so glad. When you left earlier… I thought maybe you didn’t.” 

This shocks me. “You thought I didn’t what?”

“Didn’t feel this too.”

It finally clicks. These are Harry’s feelings. This is what he feels toward me, this is how he feels knowing how I feel, he feels this because I feel the way I do for him. This glorious cacophony of euphoria and delight has come from knowledge of my feelings. That in itself, for me, is almost beyond understanding. But then I also have to consider that he thought that I didn’t care for him.

 

“Why- how could you ever think that?”

“Well I just… why would you? I mean I’m… me. And you don’t like me.”

“We’ve been over that.”

“Yeah. Well. You didn’t like me. I thought you hated me. For all that time. And then- just- everything that’s happened in the last day. It all… it just happened so fast. I thought there was no way someone like you could feel like this that fast. Especially for someone like me. And when you said you couldn’t see me again… I didn’t know how you could say that or do it. Not if you felt like this.” 

Oh no. He thinks… “Harry…”

“Harry?!” It's Ron. Calling for Harry from around the corner of the house. How long have we been gone? Long enough to be missed apparently.

“Harry.” He’s pulled away from me and looks up, nervous. There isn’t enough time to say everything that I need to, I can’t explain everything again.

He shakes his head. “We have to go. They’re going to think you’re up to something if we stay gone too long.” He drags me by the hand out of the shed. Ron is not in sight in either direction and I thank our good fortune. We walk up the hill in the direction we came from together. I focus on his feeling rather than my dread, which threatens to consume it. We walk up the hill in companionable silence, both I think considering everything that has transpired. But the more I focus on what I’m feeling, the more difficult it becomes not to be consumed by my fear. We feel the same, his feelings are much more pure than mine, but I think maybe if I didn't know what I know about him, my feelings would not be so tainted. But faced with the purity of his, and thus the clarification of mine, there’s only one description that fits them. I don't know him, I don't know anything about him. Not how he prefers his tea or his morning routine, not his favorite color or meal or whether he has any hobbies outside of fighting for his life and chasing tiny, winged balls. Though I’m surprised to find I’d like to. But it seems I’ve found something I’ve mocked and secretly craved all of my life at the worst possible time, with the worst possible person. Though I suppose I can’t say that our feelings, or at least his, have not been effected by whatever’s been done to us. My own feelings, I know, have been steadily increasing in severity since I first spoke to him at Remus's cottage, but there’s no way to know that his are his own and uninfluenced. Still, they have brought mine into focus and I am more than a little astonished at what I find, the answer to that preposterous, melodramatic question I asked myself in my office not long ago at all. It’s not good. This is not good. I’m light headed suddenly and my legs feel like lead. I stop and put my hands on my knees, just shy of the corner of the house. Harry stops walking and turns to me.

“What is it? What is this?”

I look up briefly and find him touching his chest. I shake my head, looking down at the ground. I love him. How can this be? How could I let this happen? How could I be such a fool? I’ve never loved anyone, not in this way. Even if his feelings are due to the influence of a potion or maybe a spell, mine aren’t and he knows. I suppose I can pass them off as such once I’ve figured this out… but what if I can’t? What if… this is how we feel from now on? He expects me to stay, for us to be together. And I have to deny him, we can’t do this, it wouldn’t be real, I couldn’t accept it, his friends would never accept this, me. I’m a danger to him, to all of them. Besides, I wouldn’t know where to begin or what to do, how to go about being the person he deserves or needs. I’m spiraling. I just have to remember that none of this matters and none of it is a choice. Maybe… I love him, but we can never be. I hear a pained guttural noise from above my head and look up to find Harry’s features constricted in pain. 

“Harry?” 

“What are you thinking? What are you doing? This is the exact opposite of everything you’ve just said you feel. What are you afraid of?”

Afraid? I’m not afraid. 

“Harry! There you are! Professor? Are you two alright? What’s happened?” 

It’s Hermione who spots us from back in the direction we came. Harry and I make eye contact before she reaches us and I see in his eyes that he’s worried about this. I have to push all of this aside. I have to put all of this in the back of my mind until we get through what has to be done. I have to focus on the good for Harry's sake. I exhale heartily and put it all out of mind. But I find I can’t let go of that word now that it’s there. I love Harry. I love him and every moment we’ve shared. And I find that now that I know it, now that it’s there, it’s stronger. I focus on my love for him and every dark, loathsome thing vanishes before it. I love him. If it’s within my control I will care for him, protect him. Even from myself. Harry's pained expression melts away but he looks no less concerned.

“What was that?”

I shake my head again. I couldn’t possibly explain before Hermione gets here, but that’s not why I refuse to. I simply can’t stomach denying him twice in one day. “There isn’t time to say.” 

“Sev-”

“Harry! Where have you been? Sturgis tested the Veritaserum and he’s ready to get started. I tried to talk him out of it but when he realized you two were gone it only made him more eager. Honestly, I knew you two needed a moment but this is a bit much. Can we please go now? Before he tears the place apart?” 

I give her a curt nod and set off for the door before both of them. I feel Harry’s hurt and suspicion. I suppose, whatever this is, we’re feeling everything now. Strong and otherwise. I focus again on how much I love him. Specifically, on how steadfast the resolve of the feeling is now. When I reach the door, I hold it open for both of them. Hermione thanks me as she walks through, Harry just looks at me, confused but trusting. 

When I step inside, every eye in the room is on me once more. Back to business. My stomach flips at the change in energies but I seek out Sturgis and walk purposefully over to him. He stands beside an end table set with tea beside the chair where Remus was last night when I arrived. Remus himself stands behind Sturgis, beside the stairs. Harry moves to stand next to him. They look at each other, Remus’s weathered good looks full of concern. Harry considers him for a moment, then smiles confidently. I’d like to set the werewolf on fire but it wouldn’t do to get distracted by him at a time like this. I look back at Sturgis and shove my jealousy deep down inside for later use. 

“Welcome back. Interesting time to go about disappearing.”

“I simply needed some air.”

“Likely excuse.”

“He and Harry both have indigestion. I found them together outside, Professor Snape looked very ill.” Hermione’s words are clipped, she sounds more annoyed than she had when she went upstairs.

“Then perhaps we ought to get on with this so our Professor here can leave.”

“Indeed.” I cross my arms and cock a hip. Something tugs at my core and it feels… distraught. I don’t look at him, simply think on that word and everything it means to me now. Everything good that he has brought into my life. The tugging slowly abates. 

“I’ll administer the serum if you don’t mind.” Hermione, little thing that she is, practically knocks Sturgis to the ground as she pushes him out of the way.

“By all means, your Majesty.”

I don’t remember Sturgis being quite so snide the last time we saw each other, but then Azkaban has a way of changing people. She rolls her eyes and removes a small crystal vial from her pockets. With a steady hand she pours two drops of a nearly empty bottle into a cup of tea then stoppers the vial back and looks at me.

“Sorry, Professor.” She hands me the cup and I drink all of it in one swallow.

“I’ve nothing to hide. No need to apologize Ms. Granger.” 

I hand the cup back to her and she sets it back on the tray. It doesn’t take long. I feel a familiar change. At the end of the first war, I spent nearly a month under questioning at the Ministry under the control of the serum. There were no limits there, they asked any and every question, no matter how personal or embarrassing. It’s something you never forget, losing control of yourself, and the feel of the serum's effects is actually somewhat of a trigger for me. Use of Veritaserum is frowned upon, but I’ve sometimes thought it ought to be prohibited. In a way, it’s not so different from the Imperius curse. I take a surreptitious, steadying breath as my mind clouds and my thoughts slow. My nerves are a jumble, my anxiety is through the roof but I have no control over these things now. I say a silent apology to Harry for having to feel all of this alongside me and wait to begin. 

“I want one thing understood before we begin.” Kingsley addresses the room from behind me and to the right, “Relevant questions only. And the bare minimum of questions needed. Anyone who has been under the influence of Veritaserum knows that it is very unpleasant and we ought not draw this out any longer than necessary. I’d like to begin if it’s alright with you, Sturgis. Professor Snape?” I nod consent. “Where do your loyalties lie in this war?”

“With Harry.” Tugged to the forefront of my mind are the reasons why I support Harry, that I felt I owed his mother in the past, that I now love him and would do anything for him, all the reasons I love him, everything that falls into the category of Harry. My hazy mind pulls it forward and I actually yearn to tell them all of it. But I can still separate that yearning, the potions influence, from my true feelings and abject terror at being made to confess to any of it. Gods. Please don’t ask for details.

Kingsley smiles and nods. “Personally, that’s all I need to hear.”

Sturgis scoffs and wastes no time setting in. 

“Did Dumbledore ask you to kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Is the memory in Harry’s pensieve real?”

“Yes.”

“Does it belong to Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you to maintain your position no matter the cost?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you think he knew the school would come to this when he made you promise that?”

“Yes.”

Everyone is silent for a moment. 

“Why would he allow this?”

“He didn’t have a choice. This was the best way to buy Harry time to defeat the Dark Lord.”

My heart’s hammering. Just the slightest expounding would reveal everything, please let him move on. Sturgis folds his arms and reconsiders me. Then he seems decided. 

“Have you always been on our side?” 

“No.”

“How long have you been?”

“Since the prophecy that lead to Lily and James Potters deaths was told.”

“And Dumbledore wasn’t bothered by who you were, what you were before?”

“If he was he never made it known. He said he felt I had redeemed myself through my work.”

“Do you? Do you think you’ve redeemed yourself, earned our trust? Do you even feel guilty about the things you’ve done, the things you continue to do?”

“Sturgis!” Kingsley reprimands him for his line of questioning, but it’s too late, the Veritaserum forces the answers out of me, as if physically. I flush with embarrassment as I feel the truth expulsed from me in the almost violent way the serum works.

“I can never be redeemed. There is no amount of good deeds I could perform nor time spent on the side of good that could ever negate the things I’ve done. I’ll live the rest of my probably short life drowning in my well deserved guilt. I may not deserve the chance to, but I strive to earn your trust and help do what good I can.”

Sturgis looks over his shoulder at Remus who’s looking at me as if I’m a very complicated puzzle to be worked out. I wonder if they collaborated on this inquisition or if they’ve otherwise discussed my trustworthiness. Harry doesn’t miss the exchange and looks up at Remus in horror. Lupin, for his part, look properly ashamed. Harry looks back at me, stricken and then down at the floor, brows pinched.

Kingsley breaks the relatively awkward silence. “Why didn’t Dumbledore tell us about the Malfoy boy?”

“He didn’t tell you about Draco because he thought he might change his mind. He thought if that happened, that it would be best if it stayed between the three of us. He also thought that you might try to get involved, in which case we ran a higher risk of the exposure of my position.”

Sturgis seems not to have anything left to say and, in fact, looks contrite. A clock ticks loudly somewhere in the house. No one says a word for likely two full minutes.

“Told you this was a waste.” Hermione looks smugly over at him.

“Proven innocence is never really a waste.” Kingsley smiles at her indulgently.

“Tell that to Professor Snape, who’s now had his privacy invaded and will be in danger until the effects wear off.”

“It was worth it, Ms. Granger. I would have done this a long time ago if not for the danger it posed to my position.”

“Why aren’t you worried about endangering your position now?” Sturgis seems not so skeptical now, merely curious.

“The danger to my position and my life is hardly a priority in comparison to the danger the Dark Lord’s goal poses. If I had died without telling anyone it would mean the end of the world as we know it. Something I am quite willing to risk my life to prevent.” 

The silence that follows is, I think, a little awed and musing. Much the same as the gatherings expressions. Harry’s face is now carefully blank but I can feel him, distantly, as if through a haze. Something delicate has broken within him and I wonder at how it might feel if I could feel it fully.

“Do you really think you’re that likely to die?” Harry's voice is quiet and several heads turn in his direction. 

If not for the Veritaserum I would say something clever or lie outright for his benefit. “If He is given even the slightest reason to doubt me, He will kill me.”

Sturgis shakes his blonde head slowly, blue eyes wide with amazement and sighs. “I guess I owe you a pretty big apology.” He steps forward and puts out a hand. “Seems like you really are our best chance to best the slimy bastard. I’m sorry I was so quick to judge.”

I take his hand and shake it, mostly to be polite as I’m still angry over how he went about this. “No one knew for certain aside from Dumbledore, Sturgis. It is hardly your fault.”

He nods and turns to Harry. “If it wasn’t for you we’d all still be out to kill this barmy corker! You’re both either very brave or completely round the bend!”

“Combination of the two seems most likely.” I say it impulsively, courtesy of the serum. It draws a laugh from everyone except Harry. Lupin is still shooting him the occasional regretful, assessing look. Harry pays him no mind and will not make eye contact with me. Instead he examines the tea pot on the table. I seek what he’s feeling through the haze I assume I can attribute to the serum but I can’t quite sort it out. Around us, everyone resumes private conversations, I watch Remus try to decide what he could say to Harry, but Sturgis is on him in short order. 

Kingsley comes up behind me and clasps my elbow. I reluctantly turn away from my inspection of Harry. “Professor. I would just like you to know that I am thrilled to have you back.” 

“Yeah, you always want the loonies on your side.” George comes from behind Kingsley, followed by Fred. 

“Oh, no. Not you two. You’re not going to bother him. Come with me, Professor, there's a guest room you can borrow until the serum leaves your system.” 

Suddenly Harry is on our other side. “I’ll take him.” He has my other elbow and turns me roughly, then moves past Sturgis and Remus, up the stairs. I follow him, listening for any indication that anyone thinks this is odd. I suppose the Veritaserum has made me paranoid, as the simplest question vaguely phrased could cause me to tell everyone everything. But no one watches us go, not even Ron or Hermione. Remus glances Harry longingly but is wrapped up in animated conversation with Sturgis as we ascend the stairs. I've never been beyond the first floor of their home, the stairs are practically collapsing, the walls (crooked, pieced together with mismatched boards) are decorated with needlepoints and family photos. Runner rugs are placed slap dash at odd intervals throughout the halls, these are worn to tatters and mended with odd bits of other rugs and possibly clothing. I’m no stranger to meager bordering on impoverished existence, but something about this place makes you overlook the details. As opposed to pitying the Weasley’s and their sparse, shabby belongings, I find I envy them. The house feels warm, lived in, comforting. The rugs may be falling apart but it’s only because of the traffic of swarms of children and friends. The stairs are rickety, the walls are crooked and the furniture is threadbare, but the pantry is full, there are pictures packed together so close you barely notice the walls and the place smells like joy. The house isn’t the home, the family is. And for all that they lack in possessions and have likely never been in some cavernous tribute to marble and opulence like the Malfoy’s home, they more than make up for it in love and warmth. The love between them oozes out of every crack between the creaking floorboards and radiates out of every glaringly rust colored, freckle loaded photograph. Just at the first floor he leads me down a wavering hall. I suddenly see the appeal this place and its residents hold for Harry. He’s never had a family, likely never even been exposed to a happy one, which I was fortunate enough to have been with his mother. He’s never known this kind of love… never known any love, nor had it for himself. None other than that between his friends, which isn’t quite the same. He walks to the end of the hall and opens a door to our right, then steps in. I sigh in defeat. It seems no matter how I try to firm my resolve, no matter how much I tell myself it’s wrong, no matter how strongly I feel and know I shouldn’t let this happen, I can’t escape it. I am drawn towards him, find myself alone with him, am powerless to his advances. And though I’ve thought it a multitude of times since this began, I tell myself once again that surely this will be the end, this will be the last encounter. Our last moment alone. And then I’ll be free of this burden, this guilt. To have tainted him the way I have already, of all my irredeemable acts, that is certainly among the worst. I enter the room and close the door. He stands between the foot of a twin bed, set on a makeshift wooden bed frame, and a low quality ancient looking dresser. He still does not meet my eye, rather studies the handmade, faded quilt on the bed. His first love could have been a beautiful thing. He didn’t deserve this. He could have met someone who matched his good looks and bravery and skill, someone who deserved him. Instead he was dealt a bad hand, given very little time and a cranky, greasy, tarnished bat for company. 

“Quit it.” He looks at me, finally. He isn’t smiling, looks quite serious in fact. He pulls out his wand and casts Muffliato then puts it away and takes a few steps toward me. “You can’t feel me, can you?” I shake my head and he grimaces. 

“I think it’s the serum. It's… like feeling something through several layers of cloth.” 

He nods. “I feel you… more. It’s hard to tell the difference, whether I’m feeling it or if the feelings are yours. I feel like I could read your mind if I tried hard enough, almost like you’ve become a part of me.” He searches my features after he says it, the double meaning is not lost on me. 

“Harry… we can’t.”

He nods again and furrows his brow. He looks to be thinking very hard. He looks back at me and considers something introspectively before finally speaking. “Do you even want to?” 

“Yes. More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” I see where this is going. I know he won’t take advantage of me, that he just needs this reassurance, but still, it pains me to open up like this and I worry that he’ll manage to get the worst out of me. 

“I know why we can't, but why do you feel so guilty about this?” 

“Because you're so young and good and beautiful. I never should have kissed you back or held you or encouraged this.” 

“I wanted those things too! I'm glad you did, how can you feel guilty about it when we both wanted it?”

“Because I don't deserve you. I could never deserve you. You're so… perfect and I'm just… I'm vile. I’m no good.”

“That's rubbish!” He comes closer still, he’s standing just before me, hands opened pleadingly. “You’re just as good as any of us.”

“What do you know? You barely know anything about me. I’ve done… horrible things, Harry. Things no truly good person could ever do.”

“… ‘We’ve all got light and darkness in us… what matters is the part you act on…’ Everyone’s capable of doing unthinkable things. You’ve done them, but you feel this about them,” he pats his chest, “that’s proof that you’re good. You’re doing what good you can, you’re willing to die for it. You’re good, Severus. You don’t deserve to feel like this. You don’t deserve to be miserable. You deserve to be happy.” 

I shake my head and look at the floor. What he says breaks something in me. I want desperately to believe him, I want to feel like I could deserve this, him. I want to love him. But I know I can’t, I know I could never. “I don't.”

“Yes. You do. More than any of us maybe.” 

“You don't know, Harry.” 

“Then tell me.” 

Oh, Merlin, no. Thank the Gods that was loosely phrased. “Harry… don't. Please.” 

He debates it for a second then shakes his head. “I won't. I couldn’t. But it wouldn’t change anything. You deserve this… I deserve this. I want this every bit as bad as you do.” 

“We don't always get what we want.”

“I never do. I've had everything taken from me. So have you. But the only thing standing in the way of this is you.” 

My heart is pounding. “We can't, you know we can't, you know the reasons why you said so yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

“Everything we do is dangerous. You said yourself He would kill you if he had the slightest doubt. You're willing to work with the Order again but not give this a chance? What's the difference?” 

“The difference is that I could lead Him right to you!”

“Lead who? He’s gone, you’re the one looking for me!”

I don't have an answer. He's right, at least it feels like it, I'll probably come up with a reason why this is still wrong, but for now it feels right. Still I fold my arms obstinately.

“I just… I know what you feel. I know what I feel. And it… everything’s just… it’s like we’re meant to.” He blushes when he says it and puts his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks down at the floor, crestfallen. I search for his emotions through the haze, I find them easier this time. The Veritserum must be beginning to wear off. There’s a desperate sort of hurt there. I also feel an echo of my own feelings. I’m stunned to find that his are stronger, though perhaps less defined. His feel frantic where as mine are steady and sure. I don’t know what to think of that, what it might imply. But I know that this is hurting him, that he desperately wants this. I do too. And what he’s said makes sense…

“I don't… I don’t want much. I know I can't see you all the time… that I won’t likely see you for months. I don’t care. I just… I can’t pretend I don’t feel this… that this doesn’t matter to me. That you don’t. Not when we could both die tomorrow anyway. And I know you'll probably get tired of me… maybe you already are. I’d understand, someone like you with someone like me...” He never looks up from his feet and when he trails off tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. He doesn't finish the thought, but it doesn't matter. It's enough. It pushes me over the edge, I give in. 

I close the short distance between us. He looks up at me, surprised and unsure. I put a hand on the back of his neck, wrap my other arm around his waist and take his mouth the way I've wanted to since I first caught him looking at me. He's immediately responsive, eager. He winds his arms up past mine and around my neck. I turn and press him against the wall. He releases a soft moan with a puff of breath when my chest presses against his. The sound is enough to undo me, all coherent thought stops and it's just our bodies and feelings. That love for him comes rushing back, it drowns out my terror and guilt. It feels as though it was never even there. I start with slow, small, sampling kisses. Acquainting myself with the shape of his mouth, the way he responds to my movements, showing him the right amount of pressure, trying different angles in my exploration to elicit just the right response. It’s languid and intoxicating, my heart hammers furiously in my chest, I fight to control my breathing lest I start panting. Every meeting of our lips sends a current of electricity through my body, both urging me to hurry this and take my time. I settle for feeling more. I run my left hand from his hip to his lower back and wind the fingers of my right gently into his shaggy hair, pull slightly to tip his head backward and run my tongue across his lower lip. He groans and when his mouth opens I dip my tongue tentatively inside. The tips of our tongues touch and I take a deep breath slowly to clear my mind. The rush of all of this threatens to make me forget his age and likely lack of experience, it wouldn’t do to get over excited and push this too far. His fingers drag up through the bottom of my hairline, his tongue moves timidly against my lips, dances with my own and retreats reluctantly. He tastes vaguely bitter sweet, like the Weasley’s tea. I pull him closer and he wraps his arms more tightly around my neck. I kiss him deeper, firmer. I slide more of my tongue into his mouth, explore the full body of his. He moans lightly, then pulls back and takes a deep breath. I rest my forehead against his.

“Oh, God. That was perfect.”

“You’re perfect, Harry. I could never tire of you, it’s you who shouldn’t want me. The fact that you do… it’s impossible. I don’t understand it. But if you do, really do, how could I ever deny you?”

He smiles coyly and shakes his head, “You’re so wrong. I don’t understand how you can’t know how incredible you are.” 

I scoff lightly, “I suppose my years denoting the opposite are working against me.”

I kiss his cheek gently and he turns his head to catch my lips. He kisses me equally slowly, much more timidly and with more sweetness than I have ever known in a partner. Every kiss is like a request for permission, he runs strands of my hair through his fingers and presses his chest against me as close as he can. I feel his heart beating just as hard as mine. I’ve never been kissed like this by anyone. Even in the most serious of my few, fleeting relationship (which could only be considered such because we were monogamous) nothing ever felt anything like this. I run my hands up and down his sides, feel his muscular shoulders, try to memorize every sensation and every inch of him as I don’t know when or even if we’ll get another chance to be alone. I run my hands down his back along his spine and stop myself through sheer will power at his tail bone. His kisses take on a more frantic quality, messy, delicious. I move my hands around to his hips and squeeze, my thumbs at the sensitive flesh where his hips dip in. I nip at his bottom lip gently, surprising a moan from him and he pulls back again. He leans back against the wall and studies me with lust glazed eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his breathing is ragged, which makes me feel better about mine, and he seems unable to speak for a moment.

“I just… need a minute.”

“I’m sorry, is it too much, too fast? We can stop.” I release my gentle hold on him and begin to pull away.

“No!” He yanks me back toward him by my shoulders and once he realizes what he’s done blushes. “Sorry. No, I just… well I’ve never…” 

I smile down at him. “You've never kissed anyone before?”

“Of course I have! Just… not like that. Not even close. And… you were the first… bloke. It was never an anything like this with Cho or Ginny it was… it just felt strange. But, God, this… this is-“

“Harry, if… if this is too much or if we… if we’re moving too fast, please tell me. We can slow down, it won't bother me. I don’t want to… to make you uncomfortable or… for you to do something you might regret. I-“

He shakes his head and chuckles, “Just shut up,” then stretches up on the tips of his toes and kisses me. He pulls the back of my head down toward him, not roughly but not very gentle. I smile against his lips and he presses the length of his body against me. I panic briefly, as something I’m sure Harry is not yet prepared to face is very obviously very hard beneath my tight trousers but just as I’m about to push away, a corresponding hardness rubs against it at length. It takes my breath away and startles a pleased noise out of both Harry and I. We pull apart and I search his eyes for fear or disgust. I find curiosity and excitement instead. The corner of his mouth twitches up in a mischievous smirk, he exhales sharply then slowly moves the length of his body back against mine. I quirk an eyebrow at him and he eyes my mouth hungrily. Just before I can lose control over myself and the situation completely there's a knock at the door. His eyes go wide, I let go of him abruptly and we both set about smoothing ourselves out. 

“Harry, dear? You’re not bothering that poor man are you?” It’s Molly Weasley. I look about the room for something to either sit on or lean against to act natural and settle for the dresser. When I try to lean against it, it wobbles and the drawer handles make a horrible clattering noise. I swear under my breath and Harry laughs at me.

“No Mrs. Weasley, we were just… talking.” He takes out his wand and whispers Finite Inacantatem. She opens the door and he stuffs his wand hurriedly into his pocket once more. 

“The oddest thing, my ears were ringing just now and I couldn’t hear a word you said. What were you- oh, dear! Harry, you look as though you’re positively burning up! I tell you, you’ve got something from all that time in the cold!” She hovers a tray of tea and sandwiches into the room and sets it beside me on the dresser. She puts her hands on her hips and looks at me, then tuts. “And I'll bet you’ve given it to poor Professor Snape. Well, perhaps I can set you to rights, come with me. Professor, if you’d like to have a bit of a lie down make yourself at home, you’ve about thirty minutes yet until the serum wears off. Come along, Harry.” She extends an arm to corral him from the room and he nods at me with a small, disappointed smile before exiting. Molly closes the door behind her and I stare at it for a long while before moving to sit on the bed. I need a moment to clear my head. Fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes I have gone from never seeing him again to agreeing to… well I’m not sure what exactly but… it ended pleasantly. It took fifteen minutes for me to lose my mind once I was alone with him. And it will take thirty more minutes for the Veritaserum to wear off to be able to go downstairs and make sure he hasn’t completely given everything away. I lay back across the bed and cover my face. I’m terrified. And I’m anxious. But I don’t regret it. The way he looked at me at the end, before Molly knocked on the door… it’s all I can do not to bemoan my frustration. Whatever I’ve entered into, whatever he wants, whatever happens next, he has me. I lost the battle before it ever even started, and now that I've had a taste… I can't possibly walk away. I sigh and drop my arms then close my eyes and focus on the connection. I can't leave the room, but I can feel him and get an idea of what he's going through. 

What I find is like that look all over again. He’s anxious, but he’s exhilarated. He’s jubilant, feels free and light and blissful. He’s happy. And in love, though I doubt he recognizes it as such. There’s very little hesitation to it now and I’m forced to recognize that he had felt so earlier because I left him. He had kissed me, his first “bloke” as he put it, and I had simply left after telling him we could never be. I didn’t try to validate him or really discuss how he felt. I was just going to leave everything unsaid and try to walk away from Harry Potter. No wonder I failed. I suppose only time can tell how foolish this truly was. My heart is still pounding, my head still spinning. I’ve never been one to buy in to romantic nonsense. I haven’t the slightest notion of what’s considered normal progress for such things or what one might be expected to do. Though I suppose the usual course is hardly important considering our extraordinary circumstances. Perhaps it’s best to simply… allow things to continue as they have and keep an open mind. I think about what he said, how I feel. How unavoidable this seems to have been. How it almost seems like we’re supposed to. It brings Dumbledore's memory from the pensieve to mind. So much has happened in the last day that I’m honestly having difficulty keeping everything straight. I need to see it again, hear the prophecy once more. Much needs straightening out. There’s another knock at the door and my mind instantly hopes Harry has managed to sneak back. 

“Enter.” I sit up and try to appear indifferent as opposed to the mess of emotion that I truly am. Instead of the welcome sight of Harry when the door opens I find myself faced with someone glaringly offensive to my current state of mind. “Ah. Lupin. Come to exploit my candor.”

He steps in quickly and looks at me with reproach. When he closes the door he leans back against it and sighs deeply. I get the distinct impression that no one knows he’s here. “I’d like to just talk… if we could. I won’t… ask questions. And I want to start by apologizing for the way I behaved last night. And for doing this while you’re… not in control of yourself. I just doubt that we’ll get another chance when you go back down there and we need to.”

I eye him suspiciously and say nothing. After a beat he nods and continues. 

“Right. Well. I only wanted to explain to you… that I was only ever worried for Harry.” He studies my face then becomes quite interested in Molly's tea tray. “I didn’t know that we could trust you. And you just… left with him. But I was wrong. I overreacted. And… I get the feeling I don’t know you at all. I’d like to change that. Get to know you so we can all work together. We need to. I hope that’s alright with you.”

Remus always was the more reasonable of the Marauders. But this is surprising, even from him. “Of course.” 

He nods and drums his fingers on his patched and faded slacks. He releases a puff of breath and smirks noncommittally. “Right, then. I’ll leave you.” 

He turns to open the door and I stand and call out to stop him. “Lupin. There’s something I have to know.” I pull out my wand and he looks at me sideways. I cast Muffliato once more and set my wand on the bed as a show of faith. He relaxes slightly but looks at me warily. “There is no gentle or polite way to ask. What I need to know is personal. But it’s just as you said… I’m only concerned for Harry.” He nods and sighs, then studies the floor. 

“I know what you’re going to ask. You’re… you deserve to know. And besides, I know now how well you can keep a secret.” He smirks at me and looks up from beneath tousled, tawny hair. It reminds me of Harry and stokes my jealousy. “And it absolutely has to be kept a secret. If the wrong people find out… it’s unthinkable.” He sighs and looks at me warily. He runs a hand across his stubble and moves to lean on the side of the dresser, which doesn’t tip it and makes him look suave despite his rags. I seethe over his good looks and try not to remember I’m leaving Harry with him then internally smack myself into focus. “There are… some things… coming together for me and Tonks. That might be relevant to what the Dark Lord is doing. We had a lot of questions and still do but… before we just knew that it was a bad thing that she was pregnant. We had to hide her and-“ he cuts off with a sigh and cover his eyes. “I’ve… I’ve started wrong. There are some things you need to know first. It was during the First War, and it was done very quietly. Tonks has only just told me. You Know Who, he got it in his head for the darkest reasons that he needed a wife, and that wife needed to give him a child. We still don’t know why, what he wanted with it… but he made it very clear to the Blacks, who were very eager to help, that there would be a child but they would never meet it. Narcissa was already promised to Lucius, however the Dark Lord was not partial to her particular charms, so no matter for her. Bellatrix, as you may know, was born incapable. That didn’t stop their infatuation from developing but He still had His need. So that left Andromeda. She was repulsed by the idea, and claimed that she had already met a proper match and begged her parents to allow her to marry him so that the Dark Lord could not go through with His intentions for her. But the Dark Lord was no longer concerned with whom she was married to, nor was He concerned with the parentage of the child, so long as it was a first child of pure blood. And so she saw her way out. She told old Teddy Tonks what was happening and he erased his parents memories, destroyed all records of his lineage and convinced the world at large that he was muggle born to protect Andromeda and their child.” He’s quiet for a moment and I resist the urge to yell at him to continue. He sighs deeply and looks at his hands. “You’ve no doubt heard that he’s died recently. Ted.” He meets my eye and I nod minutely. “And they’ve taken Andromeda. She is also likely dead. I’m not sure how, but it was found out that he lied. And now the Dark Lord has Nymphadora marked. So we’ve… well we’ve tried to make it look bad. For him. I am a half-blood, I am a werewolf, these things are well known and if it is believed by all that Tonks is carrying my child then the child is safe from whatever horrible fate he intends for it. And we’ll have stopped him from achieving whatever repulsive goal he has in mind. And so there was a sham wedding, we live together and I stay by her side. But… it’s best for us to hide as much as possible because also known, though not quite as well… I’m very gay.” He chuckles and smirks at me.

“You’re saying the child isn’t yours.”

“Not only is it not mine, it would be pure-blood by his standards. If he ever knows, if anyone tells him that I’m gay-“

“Whose child is it?”

“Fred Weasley’s.”

“Tonks and Fred are…?”

He nods. “His own mother doesn’t know. Though, of course, George knows. No one knew outside the four of us but… I knew you would find it all a bit suspicious, considering our shared hobbies at Hogwarts. And after my outburst last night… I would have been worried if you hadn’t asked.” He quietly toes the ground. Neither of us say anything for a while, and the stillness is becoming unbearable with all of the unspoken questions and obvious answers filling the space between us. It’s oppressive. I decide something has to be done, as we’ll likely be seeing each other more frequently in days to come. 

“I think… that we both have Harry's best interest at heart. And we’re on each others side. As long as both of those things are true… it should be easy to trust each other and get along. For the greater good. And let me just say, what you’re doing for Fred and Tonks is rather admirable.”

He looks unsure that he’s heard me correctly, then opens and closes his mouth twice before resorting to a shrug and a smirk. “Not that admirable. Just… using my particular brand of repulsiveness to protect a baby.” 

“You've no idea what He wants with the child?”

He shakes his head. “It’s like Harry all over again. All that's missing is the prophecy.” 

I nod and look down at my feet. “Maybe I can find something in His research.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He nods and licks his lips nervously, looks at me cautiously then huffs again. “Listen, I… I think… there’s something else we need to address. It’s… well it’s very uncomfortable for me. Maybe not so much for you. And… well let’s just agree that nothing we say here leaves this room.” I nod in agreement and try not to fidget. “I just know that if we don’t talk about this it will just weigh between us and there’s really no sense in that because… it’s not as big of an issue as it might seem. Or maybe it is but… I think it's fairly obvious that… Harry… or we…” he gestures between us and sighs exasperatedly and stamps his foot. “You know what I’m trying to say.” 

“… I do.”

“I don’t think anyone could ever doubt you or your character after everything we’ve just heard and so I just think it’s important after last night that you know that I would never, ever do anything about… my feelings. I trust that you’ll always do what’s best for him and I just wanted to let you know that, in spite of my behavior last night, I will too.”

Oh, dear God. “Of course.” 

He nods and rubs his stubble again. “Right. Um. Well, I think you’ve got maybe… 20 minutes left. Give or take. I’ll leave you to mull things over, I know I’ve given you a lot to think about. And just… thank you in advance for your… discretion.” He folds his arms and takes a deep breath before leaving the room suddenly and quickly.

As soon as the door closes I double over and cover my face. What have I done? What in blazes is wrong with me?! I straighten back up and begin pacing. No one can question my character. He knows I’d never do exactly what I’d been doing five minutes before he walked in the room. It’s as if he already knows! But if he did, he would likely have come in here and killed me right off. As much as we seem to be pushed together, it also seems every time I give in to this, something comes along to remind me how repugnant I am for it. It always comes back to how easy it is to forget whenever Harry’s there. Am I just that weak willed, I push how horrible I am out of my mind every time I see him, I’m willing to risk hurting him for my own selfish reasons? Gods, I’m an idiot. If Lily could see me now… ugh. I shudder to think how she would react to this. I suppose she and James and Sirius and practically everyone I’ve ever known… I suppose they were right. I’m… some kind of fiend not fit to live among the good people. It’s too late now though… I’ve already told him everything and I’m already hooked… and I suppose to back out now would surely do more damage than I would ever choose to inflict. I would never hurt him intentionally. So that's it then. Maybe I'm absolutely disgusting and insane but I’m committed. Besides, there are more important things deserving of my attention than an occasional, hurried snog between Harry and myself. Like the fact that I'm sending him away to be in the care someone else that loves him. Sure, he says he'll never do anything about it but… surprisingly, I don’t put much stock in that oath. And, on a much less self centered note, there’s the matter of what Voldemort wants with a pureblood baby… and why he didn’t mention it to me. Things just got much more difficult. And I’ve still got roughly twenty minutes before I can leave this room and occupy myself by getting to work on this. I flop back on the bed and close my eyes. What has become of my life? What am I going to do? How can I take my mind off of things until I can get out of this room? All I can think of as a distraction is Harry. I wonder what he’s feeling now, after that storm of emotions I’ve just been through. I seek out the line to him at the center of myself. The fog has cleared almost completely now and I’m surprised how easy it is to find it now. It feels just like an extension of myself, just like Harry said, I almost feel as though I could read his very thoughts. It’s horrifying. But his feelings distract me. He’s worried now, anxious and annoyed. I chuckle and wonder what number of things could be annoying him in this place. It makes me feel warm for some reason. I think about all the times he’s scowled at me, rolled his eyes. The way he runs his hands through hair and somehow messes it further. He’s… inconceivably adorable. I wish I could see his face… I disgust myself. When did I become so mawkish? Suddenly the anxiety and annoyance turn bubbly and saccharine. He’s still worried but he’s happier and I know he’s felt the change in me. I think about him more. About his head on my chest, the smell of his hair, the way I felt when he kissed me. That's such a nice thought that I stay there for a while remembering deft fingers, soft lips and his heart beating almost in time with my own. Even just thinking about him, it’s as though time ceases to exist. My breathing deepens, my mind quiets, there’s only Harry and all the light and goodness he inspires. And I can feel how this makes him feel. He’s stopped worrying. He’s brimming with joy and reciprocal love. Surely this can’t be so wrong? It’s all the justification I need. Anything that makes Harry feel this good, anything that makes Harry happy is worth whatever damnation I receive. Besides, we’ll both be dead before this is over, what’s the harm? I would do anything for him. His emotions feel like a warm blanket, I wrap myself in them, let the warmth seep through to my core, relax all the tension in me, physical, emotional, mental. It slowly eases until it's gone and I’m just left feeling… bliss. I’m positive I’ve never felt this good. I exhale deeply and simply feel. Before long I’m not so aware of how lumpy the mattress is, nor even really where I am or Harry’s absence. It almost feels like he’s here with me. I idle the time away that way, simply enjoying the waves of emotion passing between us and testing the connection. I can feel him reaching back through it, I can feel his energy and sense his consciousness. Whatever this is, as frightening as it is and despite the fact that I don’t know what’s to come of it, it’s intriguing. It seems to be getting stronger and evolving which is probably both the most interesting and frightening aspect of it. That and the fact that it can make a person feel like they’re dying… could it kill us? Maybe it’s not that intriguing at all. Just frightening. And unsurprisingly I’m not enjoying this anymore. I open my eyes and stare at the slanted ceiling. I’m going to be buried in work from today on. I should probably just enjoy the quiet. I hope Harry really understands how little we will be seeing each other. And that he won't be seeing too much of Remus… Merlin, I could kill him. I hate him, and I likely always will, but he is good looking. And I understand why he’s so well liked. I don't know what I’d do if Harry changed his mind about him, if anything were to happen… selfish of me, considering his fate. But I can't help it. I want him to myself, for myself, I just want him. There’s a light knock at the door and I jump lightly. The door creaks open and I lean up on my elbows as Harry sneaks through. He closes the door and blushes down at his feet.

“Times up. It should be out of your system. I convinced them to let me come up. I just… wanted a chance to say goodbye in private.” 

“Wonderful.” I stand up and he looks up, crooked grin on his face as I cross the few steps between us. I pull him into an embrace, he sighs in my arms. 

“This is going to be hard.” 

“If… if you don't want to do this I understand. You can tell me.”

“No! I want this. It's… more than worth it. I just… I'll miss you. If that doesn't sound too… lame. And I'll be worried.” 

“As will I.”

“Just worried? Or you'll miss me too?”

“Both, of course, you cheeky little prat.”

He chuckles and squeezes me more tightly. “You give really great hugs.” 

My heart skips a beat. “… It's only because you fit there so well.”

“Can’t I just go back with you?”

I want to say yes. I have to stop myself from saying yes, I want to so desperately. It’s an easy next step. I’ll be seeing him anyway, it’s private and he wants to. But I can’t. “You shouldn’t be alone. You’re going to need your friends.”

“I need you too.”

I can’t say anything. I don’t deserve this, I can’t believe this. It’s too good to be true.

“You’ll visit, right? When you can? You’re not just… gonna leave, we’ll see each other eventually won’t we?”

“Of course. I don’t know when, but…”

He nods his head against my chest. “I just… this is… big to me. I’m sure you’ve had loads of… people in your life, I’m sure I seem silly to you but it’s…”

“I understand. And… it means just as much to me. I’m not going anywhere. This is over when you say so.” I’ve never said anything like that to anyone before. I relish my control, worship it. But I’ve just given it to Harry. I must be losing my mind.

“… Do you mean that?”

“… I do.” I really do.

He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not going anywhere either.” 

I can’t stop my ludicrous grinning and the lightheartedness that comes with it is somewhat nauseating but I can also feel Harry’s exuberance. It’s grounding. I can feel confident in my decision knowing that Harry is this happy about it. He pulls away from me and glances up before blushing at floor again.

“People will be suspicious if we’re too long and I think it’s best if we keep this quiet for a while. I haven’t even properly come out yet.” He chuckles nervously.

I nod agreement but stop him before he can turn to go. I place my fingers under his chin and tilt his head back for a kiss, quick and gentle and significant in its simplicity. He looks at me dazedly and I stay close afterward. “You don’t need to act so sheepish, Harry. I don’t regret anything that happened earlier, do you?” He shakes his head no and smiles. “Good, I’m glad. Because I’d quite like to do it again if we ever get the chance.” He laughs breathily and looks at my lips. I run my thumb across the corner of his. “But we ought to be going.” 

His eyes glitter in that way that they do and he quickly steals another kiss from me. He braces himself by holding my hand and I squeeze it when he breaks away. He smiles genuinely before leaving this time and I follow behind him with a heavy heart. I don’t want to leave him here. I don’t want him to go with Remus. I want him with me, where he wants to be. This is rubbish. Bollocks. Completely unfair. But it’s also the way it has to be and I’m acting like a child. When we descend the stairs I see that nearly everyone has left and Harry, Ron and Hermione’s things are in the middle of the room ready to go. I ignore it and cast about for Remus. I’m both glad and concerned that he chose to miss my departure. I fold my hands before myself and nod to Arthur and Molly waiting at the base of the steps, Fred, George and Tonks behind them. 

“Thank you for hosting on such short notice. Hopefully in the future I’ll be able to give you more notice before I call a meeting.”

“No bother.” Arthur eyes me suspiciously and I hold my breath, waiting for what I’m sure will be the scathing of a lifetime. “Honored to be able to help really.” Instead he smiles reassuringly and pats Molly on the back. She extends a hand and shakes mine vigorously, then seems to think better of it and pulls me in for a hug. 

“You hold strong. If you need anything, we’re here.”

I pat her arm awkwardly and nod. “Thank you. I’ll be alright.” 

She nods back and steps away. Fred and George nod as I walk past them and I try not to stare. Harry holds the door open for me and I try not to look too obviously forlorn as I pass him. 

“We’ll see you.” His eyes are intent, he’s more asking than stating and I wish I could reassure him, but even I cannot be certain this isn’t the last time I’ll see him.

I nod. “Soon… be safe.” I give him a small smile and glance at our company and find them staring blank faced. My stomach drops out and I look back at Harry, who smiles back, then I hurry through the front door. I hear it click shut as I step off the porch and walk away. What a mess I’ve inherited. I haven’t a clue of what to do with it. But I do know that before anything else can happen, I’m going to lie down once back at Hogwarts. Things may look much clearer after I’ve gotten some rest. Once outside the wards I exhale sharply and clear my mind. Thoughts of Hogwarts calm me down and chill the slow spreading warmth Harry had ignited. I exhale and hope for a much different experience upon arrival for both of our sakes before disapparating away.


	11. Marauders

I watch as Severus strides elegantly away from me, robes billowing, surprisingly soft hair bouncing, my heart breaking a little with every step he takes. I have to talk myself out of chasing after him. If I have to be without him anyway, I’d rather wait somewhere where we can have privacy for more of what we’d been doing upstairs when he is around. Somewhere quiet, where I could work on my magic and wouldn’t pose a danger to anyone else. As it is, I’ll be going to Remus's cottage, he’s promised to come around as often as possible and Ron and Hermione have insisted they’re coming too. So, no privacy, loads of people to worry about and none of them the person I’ll be worrying about most. I can’t contact him, I don’t know when I’ll ever see him again and honestly I get the feeling I won't. He's told me I will but something about the look in his eye… like he's resigned. Hadn’t inspired much confidence. I'm probably just being paranoid. But… the connection isn't helping any. The feelings for me are still there, but he’s anxious and morose and despairing himself. I slowly click the door shut, not wanting to stare after him too long. Maybe he doesn’t actually want me… maybe he just told me what I wanted to hear to keep me happy. He simply didn’t want to feel all of the heartbreak and pining I would have felt through the connection before he can figure how to undo it. All I know is I could never just walk away from him like this. I turn back to the Weasley’s, Tonks and Hermione. All of their faces blank with disbelief, turned towards me expectantly. 

“So, what the bloody hell was all that?” Fred and George speak in unison and smile at me knowingly. I try to arrange my face in an innocent way and shake my head.

“How do you mean?”

“’How do you mean', he says.” George, I think, looks over his shoulder at what I suppose is Fred.

“How would we mean, George?” Fred smirks and looks down his nose at me.

“Should there be a way or two we might mean, Harry?” George cocks his head at me, as if he’s curious. I feign ignorance and try desperately not to blush.

“I only mean, what are you on about?”

George turns and grabs Fred by the shoulders firmly. Fred places a hand on his heart and acts faint. They gaze at each other hopelessly, which is rather gross, and Fred’s voice rises several octaves the next time he speaks. “We’ll see you?”

George imitates Severus's silky baritone to the best of his ability, which isn’t very good but is very comical. “Soon. Be safe.” He shoves Fred away and turns to me. “He may as well have frenched you, obvious as all that was.” Remus has appeared in the kitchen archway, he watches the exchange with a strange sort of expression and doesn’t look at me.

I roll my eyes and try not to feel nervous. “You’re barking.”

“That’s revolting.” Ron chimes in. “And you may have forgotten, he’s dating your sister.”

Hermione looks at me knowingly and horrified and I wonder at why Ginny hasn’t told anyone yet. Well, besides Hermione, who likely knew the next time she saw Ginny without being told.

“Actually, Ron, we…” His face falls as I begin speaking and I find I'm unable to continue. 

“Harry, you didn’t. It wasn’t because of what happened was it? That isn’t your fault, it’s that greasy wanker-“

“Ronald, language!” His mother crosses her arms, 

Hermione rolls her eyes, “You heard what he said, just like the rest of us. He feels horrible and besides, he did what he could. Ginny said Cho told her that Flitwick sent her because of Professor Snape.”

“He should have done more.” Ron sticks his nose up at her.

“We could have done more as well, son, do you blame us?” Mr. Weasley puts a steadying arm around his wife and surprises me with his defense of Severus. 

“Well that’s… just… it’s completely different.”

“Not hardly. We shouldn’t have let her go back this year. We should have pulled her out when we heard what was going on there. Should have known it was only a matter of time considering…” Mrs. Weasley elbows him sharply. He trails off and they both look at me apologetically, embarrassed. I know he didn’t mean anything by it but it still hurts, I shrug it off anyway. I deserve the hurt, and they’ve been so great to me. My own lingering guilt on the subject keeps me quiet. I never should have been with her. I put her in danger needlessly.

“You lot have gotten us way off subject. What’s going on with you two, Harry?” Fred looks at me accusingly, still a fair bit of humor in his features. I think maybe he’s trying to deflect from the subject of Ginny and who's to blame there, but I think he may be serious as well. I wish he would drop it.

Remus is looking at me as well now, suspicion in his eyes. I think about what Snape told me, that Remus has feelings for me as well. Instead of the shock and nerves I felt at the prospect last night I’m now feeling… mildly guilty. I feel bad lying to him. And if he does have feelings for me I hate to hurt him. He is… good looking. And he’s such a great person besides. I remember how kind and open he was third year… had he felt something then? That’s gross enough to bring me back to the question. The hurt of the other conversation keeps my guilty blush at bay. “I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.”

“I didn’t notice anything either. You two are deranged.” Ron gestures to Fred and George with a tip of his head but looks at me warily from the corner of his eye.

Hermione clears her throat daintily and steps around from behind our mountain of trunks. “Harry… we’re sorry we didn’t believe you.” 

I grin back at her, but just as I’m about to dismiss her apology, Ron cuts in.

“Speak for yourself. Greasy old arse still killed Dumbledore and let Death Eaters- honestly Harry, after what happened to Ginny, how could you?”

“Ron!” Mrs. Weasley looks nervously between us but Ron for once is not mollified by her tone.

“No. I don’t care what he says, Veritaserum or no, that rat can’t be trusted as far as you can throw him.” 

“If we couldn’t trust him we’d know by now.” I’m trying to stay calm, not to let this grate on my nerves but it’s hard. He’s one of us and more to me.

“Exactly. You’re being ridiculous, Ron.” Hermione looks at him admonishingly. George is still looking at me, head cocked to the side. Remus is watching me as well. All other eyes are on Ron and Hermione. Remus seems to have put it together and he looks upset. I’m trying hard not to feel bad about it. He doesn't know for sure and the guiltier I seem the more certain he’ll be.

“How can either of you defend him after everything? Don't you remember what he was like at Hogwarts?”

“So what? He wasn't a nice teacher so we're just not going to work with him to save the world? Very mature, Ronald.” I can't see it but I can hear Hermione's eye roll in her voice.

Ron looks defeated but unconvinced. He mumbles something under his breath and toes the floor. I wish he’d be more accepting but these things take time with Ron. I’ll just have to hope for the best. 

“Remus, dear, I’d really like to be getting home soon. I’m tired.” Tonks puts her hands on her lower back and stretches. 

Remus stands from where he’s leaning in the doorway and Molly turns on her lightening fast. “Oh, Tonks, love, if you’d like to lie down feel free. You can take the couch or a bed upstairs, whatever you’d like.”

“I’d really just like to go home.” She chuckles nervously and smiles at Mrs. Weasley. 

Remus steps up beside her and places a hand on her shoulder. “It might be a while getting everyone settled. Maybe it’s best if you lie down. Or maybe Fred or George would be willing to see you home?” 

She looks at them expectantly and Fred nods. “No problem. George, you wanna tag along?”

“Nah, think I’ll go pester Luna a bit more about those Snatchers. Coulda swore we knew a Bryston, year or two above us.” He exits to the kitchen, squeezing Fred's shoulder on the way. 

“Thanks, Fred.” Remus moves around them to our trunks. Mrs. Weasley frets over Fred and Tonks a bit before they walk toward the floo. Ron refuses to look at me and Hermione drags him to the kitchen by his arm, quickly followed by his parents. Fred and Tonks both floo to the Lupins home without a backward glance, leaving Remus and I alone. He looks as awkward as I feel though he brushes it off quickly but seems uncertain of what to say. He covers his mouth and rubs his stubble, looking at the floor.

“Thanks for… letting us use your cottage. I know Professor Snape told you for me last night but… I’d like to apologize myself. For everything yesterday.”

“No, Harry, I’m sorry. I should have told you about Ginny.” He steps closer to me and I fight the urge to take a step back. “You deserve our honesty. And you’re right to not want to be treated like you can't handle it. It was a mistake I won't be repeating.” He smiles at me gently and turns back toward the kitchen, harried voices pouring out of the archway. He looks nervous and I hope he isn't referencing coming clean with me about his feelings. This is neither the place nor time. Though I’m sure we’ll have to have a conversation about them at some point. He looks back at me, face tense. “I hope you’ll forgive this, I feel like I may be a tad presumptuous in what I'm about to say but… I've often thought in the time since Sirius…” he glances up at me and clears his throat then takes back to examining the floor, “since… then. I've thought of us as maybe being able to have a… maybe a similar… relationship. To what you two had. I wouldn’t want to take his place, I never could. And I know you don’t need a parent at your age but... I’d love for you to consider me as much of a mentor as a friend. And well… I just want you to know that you can tell me anything you’d like to. I just want you to know you have someone who’ll… I’ll never judge you and… I’ll always be here for you. You can come to me with anything and… I only want you to be happy and safe.” 

That was unexpected. If he does have feelings for me then that was either a very odd thing to say or… like Snape said, he never means to act on them. Either way, it cuts through the awkward air between us and I smile at him broadly before throwing my arms around his chest and hugging him briefly. He’s shorter than Severus, but a bit more stout. I tuck my head against his shoulder and he wraps his arms about me loosely, patting my back awkwardly. I let go and nod at him. “Sounds brilliant. I appreciate it, really.” 

He chuckles nervously and nods back. “We'd best be off. The place might take a bit more mending before the rooms are ready.”

“I’ll go get Ron and Hermione.” He smiles at me and turns to the trunks once more. It’s a relief really, to have that out of the way. I didn’t like feeling uncertain around him and the strain it put on our friendship. If he never says anything and I never tell him I know then it won’t ever be a problem. And what he’s just offered me is proof that I was right, he’s so kindhearted and wonderful. I’m glad to have him as a friend. I peek around the wall between the kitchen and the living room. I find Ron and his parents standing in tense silence with Hermione between them beside the kitchen counters. “Hey… are you guys ready?” Everybody looks at Ron questioningly and he takes them in before looking at me.

“Harry… I can understand that we have to trust him. But… I can't work with him, I can't stand being face to face with him. Not after what he let happen to Ginny. And honestly, mate, it pisses me off that you can.” 

“Oh, Ron…” Hermione shakes her head and looks at her feet. Mrs. Weasley turns to the kitchen sink. Mr. Weasley puts his hands in his pockets and exhales sharply.

I step into the room with them and fold my arms defensively. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that… I’m not going. I’ll always be your friend. And I’ll be here if you need me but… I can’t stomach him. I can’t live there with him coming and going. I’ll only cause trouble.” 

“Why'd you wait till now to say anything? Why'd you even bother to pack?”

Ron looks at Hermione who refuses to look back and then turns to her completely. “’Mione… it doesn’t mean I’m not still on his side. You’re not mad are you, Harry? You understand, right?” 

It’s not as if I’m mad really… I’m more insulted for Severus. And I suppose I’m upset that he can’t accept him on our side… because what would that mean if he knew about me and him? But I didn’t want them to come with me anyway, I don’t want to endanger them any further. I shake my head, “I get it.” 

He turns back to Hermione who shakes her head adamantly and passes by him. “He's just saying that, Ron! He didn’t want us to go with him and this is his way out of it again! Well, I’ve got news for you, Harry. I trust Snape, I forgive him, I get why he did what he did and so does Ginny. I’m going with you because I’m a reasonable person and I’ve no intention of letting you run off to do something stupid on your own. And if you’re not going,” she turns back to Ron, “well I just don’t know what…” she’s furious with him, Ron looks as if she’s decked him. 

“Hermione, come on…” He takes a few steps toward her, I grab her by the arm and drag her toward the living room. 

“We’ll be right back.” 

Remus is there but I don’t mind talking in front of him. He makes a show of examining the mantle and whistles something as he does so. “Hermione, you’re right. I don’t want either of you there, but only because I care about you. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you but that doesn’t mean I just don’t want you around anymore. I still need both of you to get through this, I still love both of you.” She looks surprised to hear it and smiles. “I don’t feel like Ron doesn’t just because he doesn’t want to go. “And I’ll keep you guys in the loop. You’ll still be included. And you two love each other. In a very different way.” She scoffs and I grin at her. “That’s important. Really important in times like these. He can’t be there, I understand it. I didn’t want you guys following after me, risking getting caught with me. But I can’t let you leave him here by himself. I can’t let you break his heart just because we need Snape.”

She shakes her head. “It’s more than that. He's just using Ginny as an excuse to hold on to his prejudice against Snape. He does this with everything Harry he's just so…”

“Stubborn? So Ron? He usually comes around, in the end. Give him another chance. Help him see what a prat he's being.” 

She laughs again and smiles sadly. After a beat she gives in. “Alright. I hate you going off by yourself though. And we need to have a good long talk eventually.” 

I nod adamantly in agreement. “We really do.” 

She looks around my shoulder at Remus and leans in closer to whisper to me, “Harry, you were gone one day and when you left, so far as we knew, you and Snape couldn’t even tolerate each other. I saw the way you were looking at each other. How you kept sneaking off to be together… what’s going on?” She gives me a look that says she already knows and she’s just giving me a chance to explain. I’m not willing to say anything just yet but I do take the chance to feel out Snape's feelings. They’re cold and painful again. I pull out of them quickly, before they can overtake me as they had before. 

“I don’t know… honestly… I don’t think anything is.” 

She looks at me critically. “… But I was right to ask?”

I consider her carefully and nod. At first she looks excited and then what I’ve said sinks in. “Oh, Harry…” she pulls me in for a hug and turns her head to whisper in my ear. “You should know… Remus didn’t sleep at all last night. And when Snape came… they had a pretty serious fight. Remus said some things, like that he wanted you with him, that he cared about you more than anything, that that’s why you belong with him, he fought hard to get you back-“

My heart hurts for him, I don’t want everyone to know when he doesn’t even want me to. He doesn’t deserve that, I cut her off. “I know. Snape told me. Who else knows?”

She grimaces. “Ron and Ginny were with me. I think…”

“That they told Fred and George. So everyone knows.”

Remus clears his throat and both of our heads snap toward him. “I get the feeling not all of us are going?”

I shake my head and let go of Hermione. “Mm. Looks like it’s just me.”

Remus sighs and scratches the back of his head. He runs a hand down his face, pinches the bridge of his nose, then sticks his hands back in his pockets. He stares into the fireplace distantly and then sighs again. “You really… you shouldn’t be alone.” He shakes his head and looks down at his feet. It’s obvious what he’s going to say and equally obvious he doesn’t want to do it.

“I’ll be alright. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

He shakes his head and tries to smile at me, it comes across as more of a grimace. “It’s no trouble, of course. I’ll just… well I’ll need to talk to Tonks. I shouldn’t stay away too long. Right?” He smiles at us, obviously referencing the day he came and saw us at Sirius' house. I wonder if he isn't trying to make me feel guilty. He wrings his hands together and chews his lip, then stares into the fireplace anxiously again. 

“You don’t have to stay. You’d planned on coming by anyway. That’s enough, right?”

He nods and looks at me hopefully, then moments later shakes his head. “You said yourself Snape doesn’t think you should be alone. I happen to agree.”

“I do too. It just isn’t safe or smart, Harry.”

I start to object and Remus interrupts me. “I think... Maybe I can just stay for the night. We can summon Snape in the morning, maybe he’ll have an answer.” He sighs and smiles at me reassuringly. “But we’re wasting daylight. Let’s uh… let's just get going and we’ll get the place ready and then I'll… go talk with Tonks.” He wipes his palms on his pants and rushes over to my trunk. He clears his throat and picks it up then runs for the door. He calls back over his shoulder, “I'll just let you say your goodbyes!” Then closes the door behind him. 

Hermione and I exchange an anxious look. “I’m going to have to talk to him about this, aren’t I.”

She nods and smiles ruefully. Ron comes rushing to the doorway and smiles with relief when he sees us. “I thought you left! What was that just now?” 

“Er- Lupin. He took my trunk ahead.” 

Hermione gives a disdainful sniff and doesn’t look at him. 

“Still mad, then?” Ron steps into the room and looks at me for reassurance. I just shrug. 

She whirls on him angrily. “Yes, I’m still mad. You realize you’re abandoning Harry a second time now, right? He's going to be alone out there because you’re… well, you’re just being a… child!” 

“He’ll be alone… so you’re staying as well, then?” She sniffs again and storms away up the stairs. She mutters a charm and her trunk follows. Ron claps me on the arm and gestures toward her. “I guess that’s your doing. Thanks for being okay with this… I just. Can’t look at him. I know it’s important but…” 

“No it’s… I get it. But…” my heart’s in my throat but I have to say something, “just… keep an open mind about him, yeah? He… he was totally different than I thought last night. He’s nothing like we thought he was.” His face closes off as I talk but before he can answer, Remus comes back. 

“Ah, hiya Ron. Harry, you ready?” 

“Yeah… uh, yeah. I’ll see you later. Tell Luna bye for me.” Ron nods, still shocked by what I said and I turn toward Remus. He can’t quite meet my eye, he’s so nervous about this. Even after what he said. I guess he’s afraid to be alone with me, maybe after what happened last time… maybe he’s afraid he’ll do something again. I’ll just have to talk to him about it. “Tell your mum and dad thanks too, would ya?” I give him a little wave and make for the door Remus is holding open for me. 

When I step out onto the Weasley’s front porch I note that the weather’s darkened a little and it smells like snow. I step off the porch and wait to walk with him to the edge of the wards. He seems hesitant to follow me but steps down slowly. We stand together in silence for a while, taking in the afternoon and each other before I turn and head for the boundaries. He follows me and our silence is not so strained now, more companionable. I wonder if he’s just calmed down or if he’s got the sense that I know and he's made peace with it. I look over at him and realize it's neither, he's just put on a façade. His entire body is tensed, he looks as though I'm leading him to his death. He looks back at me and I smile at him. He gives a stiff nod and grin back before looking back at the path. I’d like to say something now but this is too sensitive. When we cross over the boundary I feel the extra power of Severus’s repellent ward and marvel privately at him. And try not to miss him. Maybe he'll take me back tomorrow since I don't have any company here either… but I don't think so. If he wanted me there, I’d still be there. It reminds me of what Hermione said, that Lupin fought to get me back here, said I belonged with him… it's all so much. And what about Tonks? He exhales slowly and looks off at the hills behind me. He's a little pale and I resolve to put an end to this as soon as we get to his cottage. He pulls out his wand and gestures to me loosely before opening his mouth to say something and closing it again. He stamps his foot and looks up into the sky. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him act so uncertain, not even that day at Grimmauld Place. Everything he does, he does with an air of certainty, maybe sometimes he’s uncomfortable or he’s unhappy about things but he always seems determined. He’s terrified. It’s kind of… disarming, but I’m too worried about what this means for our friendship to really think so. Still it’s sort of funny to me to see him so afraid of me and I smile before I take his arm and startle him out of his own thoughts. 

“Thanks for offering. Think I was lucky not to have splinched myself last time I apparated.” 

He props out the elbow I’m holding awkwardly as if it might be dangerous and mumbles something incoherently. He finally makes eye contact with me and a beat later we’re somewhere sunny and considerably warmer. He wriggles his elbow out of my grasp as soon as we’re settled and his distance, this wedge between us, bothers me. He begins toward the house and I start after him. 

“Just… a few restoration charms on the place. Some freshening spells on the beds. Air it out a bit. It’s going to be great. The weather is so much nicer here, you’ll be able to get out some, won’t just be stuck inside. There’s no floo and this is the middle of no where, this road just leads to a stream. There’s nothing for miles. You should be really safe. And then with the wards, if someone were to come along for any reason there’d be no way to know you were here.”

We’re to the front door, I notice he mended the missing step, though it creaks and groans along with the rest of the porch. The interior is even brighter than I remembered. I grin and look at Remus who shifts his weight awkwardly and looks unsure of what to do with his hands. 

“You can probably just um… box this stuff up and…” he turns toward the stairs then turns back to the living room. I can’t handle another second of it.

“Look, we obviously have to talk about this.”

His face goes blank and he shakes his head. I fold my arms and cock my head. 

“Talk about what?” He croaks out.

“Why are you acting like you are?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t know what you mean, what am I acting like, what do you mean?” he ruffles his hair and shifts again and I quirk an eyebrow. He sighs exasperatedly and sits on my trunk, which I hadn’t previously seen behind him. He rubs his hands on his knees and examines the back of the sofa across from him. “I’m just… nervous…” he glances at me out of the corner of his eye and adds quickly, “to be away from Tonks for so long.”

“You can’t talk to me or look at me because you’re worried about being away from Tonks?” 

He tilts his head and looks down the hall, away from me.

“I thought you said I deserved the truth.” 

He pauses and twiddles his thumbs then looks back at me. “You’re right.” He rubs his stubble and sighs. “I um… well I’m not very… this is. Difficult.” He shakes his head. “I just…” he seems to decide on something and springs to his feet. “It’s hard for me because I wish that you saw me the way you saw Sirius. And I just want… to be able to be there for you.” He puts a hand over his eyes as his lie falls flat even in his own ears. 

“Well I guess maybe that would explain Hermione having heard you say that you wanted me back here.” The color drains from his face. I begin walking toward him and he bumps backward into my trunk. “Maybe not so much that I belong with you. And it doesn’t really explain why you’re so afraid to be alone with me.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head looking down at the floor.

“Listen… there’s no reason to lie. I already know. I’m not upset. I’m giving you the opportunity to explain yourself here because you can understand how bad this looks with Tonks and everything.” 

He covers his eyes again. “Hermione heard. So does everybody know then?”

“I don’t know about Ron’s parents, but he does. And Ginny and Hermione.”

He nods and waves his hands in defeat. “That’s everyone then.” He shakes his head and sits back down on my trunk, holding his head. “Oh, Merlin, what a nightmare.”

I walk over to him quickly and hesitate before putting a hand on his shoulder. He leans back against the stair rail to pull away from it, which bothers me a bit but I suppose it wasn’t entirely appropriate in the moment. “Look, it’s… it’s fine. It’s alright.”

He scoffs and looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “It absolutely is not fine. It’s the furthest thing from fine. It’s horrible, I’m… Gods, I’m a monster inside and out.” He bangs his head against the rails and covers his face. 

“You’re not a monster. If that’s really how you feel you may be an idiot, but you’re not a monster.” 

He laughs and folds his arms across his chest. He smiles up at me sadly. “How do you figure?”

“People can’t help who they care for. No one seems to have a problem with it. And if you’re this upset about it, I don’t think you ever could have done anything to betray Tonks… but we need to talk about it because… you know, you mean a lot to me as well and I don’t want to lose our friendship over something so silly.”

His face warms and his smile softens. “No, never.” He sighs heavily and shifts. “You should know, I was never going to tell you, I never wanted to say anything. I never planned to do anything about it. I wouldn’t risk Tonks or the baby or losing our friendship either. I was so worried that being alone with you… that I would say or do something and that once you knew… that you’d hate me.” 

“Why would I hate you?” 

He rolls his head and stands. “Because I shouldn’t feel this way! Because you’re you and I’m me. I was your teacher and your dads friend and I’m a werewolf. I should want only to be what I said earlier, a friend and a guiding hand and nothing more… but I don’t.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. 

“How long have you…?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice is little more than a whisper.

“It does.”

He shakes his head and looks at me reproachfully. “It doesn’t. Because what I feel doesn’t. Even without Tonks we could never, ever even consider this and especially considering circumstances, this is something that needs to be acknowledged and then forgotten. So you were right and we needed to talk about it and we have and that's that. We don’t need to dwell on the details because it doesn't matter.”

“But it does matter. It matters because you matter to me and this isn't something you should be beating yourself up over. Talking about it doesn’t mean just admitting to it and then going on hating yourself for it. Just tell me.” 

He’s walked past me as I talk through the sitting room and I follow him into the kitchen. This is even more dated than the rest of the place. The floors are crumbling black and white tile, the walls are an inexplicable celery, mint, pea soup green with a tan, wooden chair rail border. There’s a door to the backyard between the end of the counters to the left and the wall between the kitchen and the dining room. He opens a cabinet and pulls out a dented, ancient silver tea kettle. He looks lost in his thoughts for a moment as he holds it. 

I give him a second and then press again. “When did you start to?” 

He sets the tea kettle down and turns away from me, rifling through a drawer. He exudes discomfort. “That’s probably the worst of it. I think I knew I would while you were still my student. I ignored it though. I refused to acknowledge it because I was disgusted with myself. By the end of the year I'd decided I was going to stay away from you. But I knew as soon as your name came out of the goblet of fire that that wasn’t going to happen. I took up with the Order again and I volunteered for the more dangerous jobs that would keep me away from you but still protect you. During your fourth year I… well I was amazed by you. By everything you’d been through and your perseverance and skill. And everything got worse. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So I stayed away from Grimmauld Place. Stayed away from you and Sirius. If he’d ever known…” He finds matches and lights the old gas stove, then picks up the tea kettle, crosses the kitchen to the sink and fills it. “The year after that, the way you fought back against Umbridge and rallied your friends, how you never gave up even though everything was working against you… how brave you were in the Department of Mysteries. How well you fought. I couldn’t deny it to myself anymore. And then Sirius was gone… and I knew that I… well I was the last of us. I should have stepped up and been there for you. But it was too late, I knew how I felt.” He places the kettle on the stove and turns to me. “I knew I couldn’t be around you in any capacity, couldn’t play godfather. I couldn’t put my feelings aside. So I let you down, I let my friends down and worse still I had an infatuation with someone who was underage, someone who could be my son and if your father was still with us you likely would have been as good as. I knew I was letting everyone down and so I stayed away. Dumbledore brought me around every so often for missions and when the conversation inevitably turned to you… all he ever had was praise for you. How well you were doing, how strong your magic is, what good instincts you had, what a great friend you are. What a good heart you have. He asked me to come back after Sirius. I told him I’d think about it but I never intended to. He was adamant about it before he died. But when I saw you again. I knew beyond a doubt that I could never take you on as a ward. I took you to The Burrow last year because they needed me and I intended not to see you again unless I had to.” He seems finished and I nod because I don’t think I can speak. My shock must show on my face, he steps toward me and reaches for me before taking his hands back and crossing his arms. “You have to believe me, I never would have done anything, I would never have betrayed your parents that way or hurt you like this. I’m only telling you because everyone knows now and because you asked and… if it really is possible I want to put this in the past. I don’t want it to change anything. Last night, with Snape, what I said didn’t mean anything. I was out of my mind. Everyone had been after me all day, what if the memories are fakes, what if Snape had changed his loyalties since, what if they get caught? And I barely know him, but I know he’s… well…” he rubs his eyes. “I know you can take care of yourself but… I still didn’t know if I could trust his… motivations. I'm so sorry, Harry.” He stares morosely at the crumbling floor hands in his sweater pockets. “I understand if this is too much for you, if you don’t want to be around me anymore. I know it’s despicable of me. If I were you I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either.” 

I think hard about how all of this makes me feel for a second. It’s a little alarming that he thought of me that way when I was so young. But he says himself that he was repulsed by the idea and that he was alarmed as well. He never did anything about it. In fact, he put himself in danger far away from me to try to forget about it. He’s never done anything to make me think anything of his intentions in all this time, four years. Other than turning up at Grimmauld Place a few months ago…

“I have to know… what about Tonks?” 

He doesn’t look up from the spot he’s contemplating. “… She knows all of this.”

“She knows that you… and she’s alright with this?” He nods. “How? Why?” 

“There are some things that no one needs to know, Harry, but for your own peace of mind and my own selfish reasons I’ll tell you this much, she doesn’t ever worry about our relationship because there’s no reason to.” 

It doesn’t make any sense to me but there’s a finality to his tone that makes me think I won’t be getting anything else out of him on that subject. He still hasn’t made eye contact with me and he looks as if he may shake hands with Voldemort upon promise of death. I find I don’t care about any of it and I don’t want him to either. I take the handful of steps between us and startle him, but before he can escape I throw my arms around him and hug him tight.

“So it’s settled then, you’re just an idiot.” He puts his arms around the middle of my back tentatively and pats. “You haven't let anyone down, I don’t hate you. I don’t even care. You haven’t hurt me. Everything’s fine. And now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” I let him go and he moves away quickly without looking at me. Maybe this won’t be so easy. 

“Maybe you don't but you should. Other people will. I'll consider myself lucky if there isn't a lynch mob here for me by the end of the day.” He swallows hard and fidgets with the book of matches he’d left on the counter.

I consider the events of the day. No one had looked at him any differently, no one had treated him differently at all as far as I can remember. “I think you might be surprised.” 

He nods and puts the matches away. He turns back to me and smiles in that sad way that he does. “I already am. I never wanted to tell you but I'm glad I did. Thanks.” 

I smile back and shrug. “Are we good again?”

He nods and smirks down at his feet. “Yeah, we’re good.”

I look at the kettle and consider whether or not I have time to take my trunk upstairs and have a look around. I’m just about to tell him I’m going to when he speaks. “Could I ask you something?”

I remember the look on his face when he'd seen Fred and George’s little reenactment. I know what he wants to know. I’m a little afraid. I don’t want to have to lie to him. Or worse, he could already know. I search his eyes for an indication of the question. “Yeah?”

“Snape… he wasn’t… nothing weird happened or anything did it? You two were just… acting sort of different. Especially him.” 

I shake my head. “No, nothing.” 

“He didn't ever make you uncomfortable or scare you? Nothing?”

“No. He was great actually. I was kind of surprised by how… nice he was.” 

Remus nods and shifts awkwardly, the tea kettle starts to rattle. He twiddles his thumbs and watches them. I hate lying to him, I hate doing this to him. It’s not as if I want him or think of him that way. But he’s my friend. And he’s a good friend. He’s just been so honest with me about something so difficult. Besides, I know I’m not a very good liar. He can probably see right through. Maybe I should just tell him? 

“Harry, I… I just want you to know that… I feel very badly about all of this and… well, I know that maybe I haven’t done much today to earn your trust but… now that everything’s out there, so long as you want me around, I… well I just want you to know that you CAN trust me. I don’t want this to change anything, I still want to… be your friend and be here for you, however you… however. I just… don’t want you to think that I can’t deal with this. I can control myself, I’m not an animal- well.” He tips his head and we both laugh and the tension finally breaks. “I just hope you still know that you can trust me with anything.” 

We smile at each other and the tea kettle begins to whistle. He turns toward it and clears his throat. “Why don’t you take your trunk upstairs? Could you go for some lunch?” 

“Yeah, sounds brilliant.” He doesn’t respond, but goes to another cabinet and pulls out a tea pot. I take a few steps backwards, still watching him, worried about what he’s feeling about all of this. He doesn’t seem to notice, but he doesn't seem worried either. Probably just needs some time with his thoughts, as do I. 

I move through the living room in a dream like state, looking toward the seat I was in when all of this really started. I don’t even feel like the same person, so much has changed in the last day, the world feels unrecognizable as well. And it’s strange to think so much could have gone wrong amidst all of the good things that have happened to me. It makes for a complex mashup of thoughts and feelings. Like I’ve fallen off a cliff and found a limb to grasp on the way down and I'm happy to be there. Although, quite honestly, I don’t think I have any right or cause to be happy. There’s a new prophecy and it sounds as if it spells out death and heartbreak for someone, likely me. Voldemort is on the path to finding something that would make him invincible. Snape and I seem to have been… cursed I suppose, and it goes without saying that we’re not telling anyone. Remus has feelings for me as well as Snape and they’re both torturing themselves over it. And I seem to be slowly sort of… drifting away from the closest thing I’ve ever know to a family. Poor Ginny… I wish I could have talked to her again. I likely only would have made things worse for her and myself and Ron. Everything seems different now. I don’t feel like I have anyone to talk to about all of it. Especially everything that’s happened with Severus. Everything about him feels so right. I’ve never known anything like it. The moment I kissed him I knew that all of the other “crushes” I’ve had were nothing more than desperation for company. I suppose I’m still desperate for his company, but in a very different way. I think I could stay with him forever in a room with nothing else and never be bored. But I doubt he feels the same. I know what I felt through the connection but I also felt all of his doubt and fear and fatalism. I’m actually afraid to access the connection. After everything that’s happened today, I don’t think I can accept his rejection right now, which I suppose vindicates his actions. I pick up my trunk and begin up the stairs. They creak and sag but hold. This is all so complicated. I’ve never been in a real relationship. Cho and Ginny were short lived and, I recognize now, meaningless. What’s the right thing to do here if I want to make this work? Are circumstances too strained? Would it be too weird to talk to him about it? I can’t very well talk to Ron and while I could talk to Hermione, we’ll never have the privacy. I would never talk to Remus about something like this now, even if it wasn’t Snape. Considering it is, he’d likely kill him. I guess that this is really the last thing I should be worried about in the grand scheme of things though. I suppose it's rather selfish. But I can’t help it. Kissing him, just being with him, it’s… everything. I’m at the top of the stairs, a door directly before me and a hall to the left. I set one side of my trunk down and open the closet to find towels and quickly after a flurry of moths. I close the door quickly, the smell of mildew choking me and step to the left. The wood floor groans loudly under my foot and gives way. I begin to fall through but counter balance my weight by throwing my trunk, which goes crashing through the floor as well. I’ve braced myself against the wall to the inside of the stairs, it’s flimsy and moist feeling and I slowly lean forward before descending the stairs sideways, even more cautiously. Remus comes rushing up. 

“Harry, my God, are you alright?!” He takes me in and then looks back toward the dining room. 

“Er… yeah. But your floor... I think you may need more than some freshening charms on the beds.”

He runs his hands through his hair, taking in the mess. I look toward the dining room and snort with repressed laughter. Dust is filling the air, flooring lays everywhere, my trunk sits in the middle of the dining table. 

“Had you been upstairs at all?” 

He shakes his head slowly and looks at me, amber eyes wide with shock. The look on his face undoes me and I break into giggles. 

“Everything that’s happened in the last day and now the floor is literally falling out from under me.” 

A grin spreads slowly across his face and he starts to laugh as well. 

Another riskier joke occurs to me and I can’t resist it. Besides, once you can laugh about something… I clap him on the shoulder. “You know, you could just buy me presents, you didn’t have to send me upstairs to try and make me fall for you.” 

He rolls his eyes and punches me in the arm but laughs in earnest. “Yeah well, I was afraid that if you ever knew the world would come crashing down. Instead, you just took down my grandparents second story.” 

I’m glad to see he can face this with the same good humor he seems to face everything with. I’m still laughing when the house creaks loudly. We both stop and he curses under his breath.

“Right…” he levitates my trunk over our heads and out the door behind us. “Wait outside. I can keep the place standing but I’ll have to see the extent of the damage to the rest of the upstairs to know what we’ll need to fix it.”

He’s already walking away so I turn and go without responding. My trunk is just past the steps to the porch and I stand beside it. To the left and ahead of me is the crater I left when I lost my temper before Snape agreed to take me away. I wonder if this will make any difference in my living arrangements. If it does, maybe I’ll be able to figure out what’s going on between us. Why does this have to make him feel so bad? Even with my lack of experience I can tell that this could be a really good thing, even with all of the risks. Something clicks with us. It just fits. A breeze blows through the trees, rattling the crisp leaves and raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Maybe he feels the same as Remus, but it's different with us… and this seems so simple to me, we feel the way we do about each other, it’s strong and undeniable and that should be it. What else could matter? Something must for him to want to continue to hurt so badly. He said he wouldn’t reject me… that he couldn’t. He said he wants this too. I close my eyes and exhale slowly, then reach out for our connection a little afraid of what I'll find. It’s still right there at the center of me, separate from myself but only just barely. Distinguishable mostly because of it’s newness. It surprises me though as I can feel him reaching back. I’d felt it at the Burrow, like brushing hands with someone or bumping into them but at your core. It makes the connection tremble and glow with warmth. I grin to myself and sort through what I feel coming from him. He’s still feeling guilty. But he misses me. I can’t stop myself from beaming. He’s worried and… jealous? Not just jealous, but practically murderous with envy. He still feels disheartened and unsure and afraid. Who wouldn’t be in his position? But I can’t be sure that’s what he’s actually afraid of. It feels more like he’s afraid of what he’s feeling. Not likely… maybe he’s afraid to break it off. Despite my resolve not to be a complete tosser about this, the idea still hurts. I can feel him sorting through my thoughts and feelings as well. I don’t think it matters, I don’t think there’s any way to hide from this, but I try to open myself up, let him feel all of it. How much I like him, how much I want to be with him, how much I already miss him as well. And how worried I am, both for him and whether he wants to be with me. When that hurt hits me a tenderness unlike anything I ever thought Severus Snape was flows through the connection. It’s like an apology and a reassurance at the same time. Like a hug. I think about hugging him, about being held by him, my heart beats faster and I feel warm in spite of the chill wind. Something similar from him washes over me and my breath catches. My doubt and hurt blow away with the wind and I’m just left with everything he makes me feel. When that registers with him I get everything he feels for me in exchange. It's like a wall, almost like a heavy weight it's so sure and solid and strong. There’s no doubt there. Whatever he’s unsure of, it isn’t his feelings for me. To think that someone feels that way about me, I doubt if anyone ever has. Ron and Hermione care obviously and Ron’s parents care about me as well. But that’s just friendship. I suppose Remus cares too… but I doubt it’s anything like this. If it were, he couldn’t bear to be around me for a slew of different reasons. There’s no ignoring this, no putting this sort of thing out of mind. It’s really kind of overwhelming, my heart feels full to bursting and I laugh. To think that something like this could develop in a day… it’s all rather unbelievable. Especially with him, he’s so logical and worldly, this doesn’t seem like him. And yet there it is, and it doesn’t feel as if he’s just feeling it. The connection pulses with it, that feeling like he’s here intensifies, it’s as if maybe he’s… trying to relay something, use the connection to pass a message, impress something upon me, but what could he be trying to say?

“Termites.”

I startle and it takes me a moment to readjust to my surroundings. I turn and see Remus striding toward me with a piece of wood. How long have I been standing here?

“Sorry?”

He looks up and waves the hunk of wood at me. “Termites got to it. Few years back France was plagued with termites. I guess they made it here. I was able to patch up the roof but… the whole second story will have to go. Everything on the first floor and cellar look okay. I suppose my dad just didn’t quite get there.” He goes quiet and still, staring distantly at the cottage. I take the wood from his hand as a distraction. It’s full of holes and crumbles easily when I squeeze it. He comes back to himself and sighs. “It's safe, but we’ll be staying downstairs. I’m sorry.”

This surprises me, he looks ashamed and I turn toward him fully. “Don’t be sorry. I’m just thrilled to be inside, I don’t care if it’s downstairs in front of a fire or upstairs in a bed.” 

He smirks at me and shrugs. “Just… kind of a reminder of how little I can actually help you.” 

“You’ve been loads of help. I actually feel like I owe you. I’ll help you fix this place up anyway I can while I’m waiting for Snape to figure out where to start with the Dark Lord. You know, when you can make it here.” 

He sighs exasperatedly and smiles despondently. “Thanks.” He looks down at my trunk and then back at me. “If this is… too bad, I’ll see if Severus will take you back. I’m sure we could work something out.” He smiles weakly, I can see how the idea pains him. This must mean a lot to him, being able to help me… but the offer to go back with Severus is so tempting.

“… No. Course not. Like I said, I want to help you fix the place up. Besides, he seemed pretty adamant that I wasn’t staying there. I don’t think we could change his mind.”

He smiles at me warmly and takes a deep breath when he looks away. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.” He picks my trunk up and walks back toward the house. I follow close behind, feeling as if I’ve done the right thing but hurting for the missed opportunity. He sets my trunk behind the sofa and puts his hands on his hips, takes in the mess once more, then banishes it with his wand. He spells the windows to open to clear out the dust, then turns to me and gestures toward the kitchen. “There are sandwiches. Nothing fancy. And tea. I’ll get some blankets and pillows from home when I go and talk to Tonks. Which I probably ought to do…” his features become set and serious. “Will you be alright if I leave you? I’ll hurry.”

“Course. It’s just a little while.” 

He nods. “Right…” he taps his foot and stares at the door. It reminds me of how difficult it had been to watch Severus go, how long it had taken us to say goodbye, how reluctant we had both been. This feels nothing like that to me but is obviously very different for him. 

“Thanks.” I smile at him reassuringly and he nods, eyes sad but smile accepting, and leaves. I exhale roughly as soon as the door shuts. I doubt things will ever go back to normal with us but I’m happy they’re not as strained as they had been. I find I’m not at all hungry and even the idea of tea is unenticing. There’s only one thing I’m really interested in. I look down at my trunk and then rush to sit in front of it. I’m a little nervous to try to read what he wrote to me while Remus is gone, I don’t know if he’ll rush back, but I doubt it. Everything’s mixed up in my trunk and the sword has cut his book strap, but the minute I see the wrapped book I know I’m not waiting another second to read his letter. I pick the book up and pull the letter out of the twine tie before looking around the room, suddenly a little paranoid. Once satisfied, I open it. I smile down at his neat scroll, not so cramped and tiny as the Half-Blood Prince’s, but still immaculate and the loops are the same. It's odd how much more appealing I find it just because it’s not blood red and spewing insults. You would think the aesthetic value would have been there either way. 

Harry

I hope you read this before you look at the book. The title itself will probably have you horrified enough to discredit the entire thing, I myself find it hard to lay eyes on it for more than it’s shabby exterior. You can then imagine the extent of my terror when I first, found substance within it’s pages and now, a use for it. However I am not writing this letter to discuss the book nor even truly the subject matter pertaining to your unique set of circumstances that it addresses, rather to belay some concerns I imagine you may have upon imbibing that information.

To say the brand of Occlumency your mind has taken to is unusual is an understatement. It is practically unheard of. I have studied Legilimency and Occlumency for nearly twenty years, I have mastered both and pride myself on having developed a few original techniques for extreme circumstances. In all of my studies, after consorting with a number of other masters and a fair bit of traveling I have come across only one other instance of a similar nature. A woman named Amaryllis Lytle had begun developing her Occlumency skills against her Legilimens soon to be mother-in-law under supervision of her fiancé. When her skills developed however, she heard his brothers voice telling her to focus. They eloped sometime later. It is the only documented case, but that is not to say that it has not happened to others. Occlumency is a very private practice, a majority of persons would not be overly willing to disclose the nature of their defenses. This is the only book I have ever encountered that talks about personal connection as a means of mental defense, while it is by no means proven or beyond doubt the theory is sound. This is not to say that I believe you should take it as gospel or that you ought to set stock in all that you are about to read, nor that I am insinuating anything about your personal ideas of me. I would also like to say that I will not hold you to any different standards or form any conclusions about the nature of our association based on these readings, it is theory and nothing more. As it is the only text on the subject I believed it would hold some interest for you and I hold no delusions about myself or our history. It is only information and you are under no obligation to respond to it or believe it. Keep an open mind and form your own conclusions. Please accept my apologies if this disturbs you and know that you have my full understanding.

I would also like to say that in the unlikely instance that you find any amount of validation in the text in these pages, that you ought not be ashamed. It is something that appears to be very outside of our control and anything that assists you in defense against Him is to be welcomed. Feel free to discuss with me in a medium of your choice anything you might feel need to. I will keep an open mind no matter how you feel about this. Know that you will not offend me and neither of us has any cause to be embarrassed by this. 

I have been surprised to find in the last evening that your company is far more pleasant than I might have previously assumed it would be and I believe our continued communication will be beneficial to both the world and each other. I hope that this will not hinder that development. We haven’t discussed such things, but I think perhaps you may feel similarly. While my own feelings on the subject are nothing that you ought to base yours on, and forgive me if the remainder of this letter is far too forward, but the experiences of the last day have lead me to find your newly developed defenses understandable. If all goes as it should, after I deliver this letter to you we may not see each other for some time, which is regrettable to say the least. While it may or may not be based on anything so dramatic as what you’ll find in this book, the nature of our relationship seems to have evolved and I have rather enjoyed the changes. So much so that I am hesitant to deliver this to you for fear of your reaction. I only hope that you’ll view this as informative and I’ll not have undone the progress we’ve made.

He doesn’t sign it. I am suddenly both more interested in the book and less. This was before we kissed, before the connection, before everything. I smile. He was so nervous and afraid to come out with what he felt towards me. But what could have him so thoroughly disturbed? He’s seen it all. I swallow hard and pull the paper wrapped text out of my trunk before placing the letter back in it. I undo the twine and tear back the paper. The corners of the cover are fraying and bent, the pink and green plaid design of it is worn and faded to pastel, the title, Love Craft: Understanding Love and its Magical Magnificence is surrounded by roses and winding ivy and I feel the blood rush from my head. I’m glad to be sitting. While the simple idea of the book is preposterous I understand his dilemma over the delivery of it. It’s a little off putting to think that he found something relevant to us in… a book about… 

Does this mean… does he think that I…? No. He told me he didn’t… that I shouldn’t take it so seriously, that he wasn’t assuming anything or taking any of it as gospel. He doesn’t think that it means anything definitively, only that the theory on my Occlumency was sound. That I might be interested because it’s the only book there is. But still… my heart’s pounding. I hadn’t even thought about… what my feelings meant. What they were. They are… they’re a lot. Inescapable. I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone before. But do I… love him? Could I be in love with him? Can you love someone after a single day? … But it hasn’t just been a day, has it? It’s been nearly seven years of a complicated and mostly indirect relationship. We spent a day together and in that time all of our presumptions were stripped away. It puts a very different perspective on the time we’ve known each other and what the other is really like. I feel like he could understand me in a way no one else really can. And he’s just… the most incredible person. The connection feels as though it expands in my chest and tingles. I center my focus on it and feel him there, still reaching back, tentative and unsure. I am as well now. I’m still not sure what he expects. He says he’s not demanding anything of me, that he wants me to just view this as simple information, but he seems open to me… agreeing with the book. Is he simply trying to spare my feelings if I do or is he saying he could? He said he thought the book was dramatic… keep an open mind. Form your own conclusions. Maybe I should just read the thing before I have this fit. 

To be honest I can’t really feel my hands, though. I can’t tear my eyes away from that word, love... is that what he’d been trying show me? Does he think he’s in love with me? My heart hammers. He wouldn’t tell me this way, would he? This isn’t how he would do it. Besides it’s him… and it’s me. I shake my head. It’s too soon. And it’s me. He’s not so ridiculous to think such a thing. Though… I might be. The more I think about it… I think I might be. At the very least, I might be falling in love with him. But what do I know? What do I know about any of that? I haven’t any parents, this is my first real relationship, if that’s even what this is, and my most extensive exposure to a romantic relationship has been Vernon and Petunia. I don’t know anything about love… I don’t think friendly love really counts. Maybe that’s not what this is even about though… I ought to just… calm down. Stop thinking about it and read the chapter. Steadying my breathing and then my hands I open to the table of contents, reading through the subjects listed there, the idea that I was perturbed by it more laughable with each title. 

• Historic Heart Casting: The Craft, the History, an Introduction Pgs. 1-38

• Wars that Love Won Pgs. 39-45

• The Stars, the Future and the Balance of Romance: Determine Your Own Fate! Pgs. 46-73

• Metamorphism and Loves Influence: Transforming Your World with Loves Magic Pgs. 74-105

• Charming Without Trying Pgs. 105-141

• A Dash of Love: Potion Crafts, Damaging or Misused? Pgs. 142-176

I snort at the last. Quite a bit of information there. Bet Snape loved that.

• Defending and Obtruding: Love Knows No Boundaries Pgs. 177-195

That must be it. My head is spinning. While I’m not so concerned over the subject matter now, I’m still a little overwhelmed to think that this could have happened between Snape and myself without even talking to each other. That he thinks this might have something to do with us. I turn to page 177 and try to focus on the writing instead of my own wild emotions. 

For centuries now, witches and wizards have studied the practice of mental magic, attempting to control one another through the world around them. The idea and practice of attempting to detach from something so personal seems barbaric to this love crafter. But there are uses for seeking the inner parts of another outside of power, lovers may come closer together through love crafts Legilimency and Occlumency uses. They may even use them to defend against outside sources! 

Many witches and wizards find themselves defenseless to the brute force of others as their own sensitivities are used against them. But through their own inner magic, their own love and spiritual connection to their magical mate, and their shared Comptus, people find themselves able to protect against mental assault. All you need is to seek out your heart force, or truest match. What most nonmagical persons refer to as a soulmate. A job perhaps more easily said than done admittedly, but once found, the Comptus between these two is so strong that no further effort is required to achieve full Occlumency. 

The strength and depth of your love forms a protection of the most intimate parts of your person. But this is a rare development as most people no longer believe in a heart force. Closed hearts rarely bond and even cosmic fates cannot force ones hand. While any love can be powerful, this unconscious magic can only take place between truest matches, only they can develop a strong enough Comptus to share energy and form mental protections from it.

I don’t think I can read anymore. Not right now. I stare unseeingly at the inside of my trunks open lid. Soulmates? Did I really just read that word in a text that Severus thought might be informative? Did he think I might believe this? Honestly? … Is he open to that? The idea that we might be… that? That we might have this? He'd… be okay with me thinking that? What does that mean? … maybe he thought I might believe in the Comptus? Whatever that is. I find Comptus in the index, turn to page thirteen and seek the word out among the text

… will be discussing the uses and benefits of the magical properties of love, including bond magic or Comptus. Magic that seems to develop exclusively between hearts force mates. Their corresponding magical energies, the force of their hearts magical signature, harmonize, and form a magical connection between the two that allow them share power. Both partners must be open to each other and have similar desires, otherwise the bond cannot form. 

… That doesn’t sound any better. It doesn’t exactly sound bad, but it's still a lot. Could this really be what’s happening? Is this what’s happened? If it is a… Comptus, does that mean we’re hearts force matches? Does it mean that we’re… soulmates, or meant to be together? It has… seemed like we’re supposed to… that Dumbledore wanted us to. And our feelings are so strong and so sudden. Is that what this connection is? Is this part of our Comptus? The book hasn’t mentioned anything like it. 

I hear the porch creek and jump nearly out of my skin before throwing the book into my trunk and slamming it shut. I should have waited. The door opens just as I get to my feet. Remus grins at me apologetically, several duffle bags hanging from either side of him.

“Sorry I took so long. Tonks was positively gobsmacked that I let this happen. Got quite the ear-bashing for it. Fred’s agreed to stay with her as long as need be. But we’ll see what Snape thinks of you staying here alone tomorrow. Likely be madder than a bag of ferrets over the state of the place.”

I can't say anything. My brain simply turns the words love and soulmate over and over again. I watch him pile a mountain of blankets and pillows on one of the armchairs and toss the duffle bags in a corner. 

“I'll take the floor.” He shoots me a questioning look and I smile at him in what I hope is a reassuring and natural way. He seems to accept it though not without reservation as he continues to glance up at me from the corner of his eye every so often. I need to do something to get out of my head and keep Remus from noticing my lack of focus... lunch. Tea and sandwiches. I have absolutely no appetite but I can’t think of anything else. I turn without saying a word and walk into the kitchen. 

There’s a selection of ham sandwiches on a platter beside tea and I go for the tea first. Two mismatched mugs are set out, both chipped but freshly washed. Remus comes in behind me as I select the one that’s worse for wear with blue and white stripes. I say a silent prayer that he won't ask what's wrong.

“Is something the matter, Harry?”

Bugger. “No.”

I can't think of anything else to say. My stomach is tight, my mind buzzing, my heart tripping. It’s hard to breathe let alone think of a deflective statement. 

“You’re acting a little… odd.” 

“Am I? … sorry. I don’t… mean to.” 

I pour my tea and stare down at it. Soulmates. And Severus was open to the idea that I might feel that way. It wouldn’t make sense to just say that to spare someone’s feelings, not about something like this. Does he think we could be? Does he want us to be? It’s frightening… and sudden. But I can’t deny that the idea that he might want this gives me a small thrill.

“Harry?” Remus puts a hand on my shoulder and I jump again. I bump my tea and spill some. 

“Oh! Sorry.” We both cast about for a towel, I remember the disused closet upstairs and cringe.

“No worries.” He pulls out his wand and winks at me before cleaning the mess. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on here?” 

I sigh and put my face in my hands. I have to lie. I hate it. And I can’t quite make myself talk just yet.

His voice is quiet. “If you changed your mind about staying here…” I shake my head. “Or… if you changed your mind about… what we talked about… if this is about… me. If it’s too weird now…” 

That makes me feel bad enough to snap out of my shock. “No! No. Of course not. I just… I was thinking about Ginny.” More despicable still. As if it isn’t bad enough to be lying to him now I’m using what happened to Ginny as an excuse. And worse, I’ve barely been thinking about that at all… at least now I am actually feeling properly guilty about it. 

“Oh.” His face shifts from suspicion to concern and he goes to put a hand on my shoulder before awkwardly retracting it and smoothing his sweater. “I’m… I’m so sorry we didn’t tell you. And that you didn’t really get a chance to talk to her. She’s been spending a lot of time with Bill. She’s considering going to stay with him and Fleur. Think she just wants to be with her big brother. The biggest one, anyway.” He smiles to himself. “If it helps any, I know she isn’t upset with you. She’s worried about you. Wishes she wouldn’t have shown you and hopes you’re not sitting around blaming yourself. She was rather distraught after you left.” 

I nod and smirk sadly. “I know she doesn’t blame me… but that doesn’t change what happened. I still feel badly for her… and I still blame me.”

“You shouldn’t. No one else does. And you couldn’t help what happened.”

“But that’s not true! If people would just leave me alone, stay away from me-“

“I know you think so, Harry, but you’re wrong. That’s not how he works. He knows what a good heart you have. He’d find a way to get to you no matter what. And not to sound insensitive but it’s a bit late in the game to start pushing people away. He already knows who your friends are.” He shrugs and smirks and I smirk back before looking back to my tea. If only I would have realized what I am before I’d ever agreed to be with her…

“Did you break it off with her because of that?”

Oh no. What do I say? “No… it just… it wasn't there. I had thought… maybe. But it wasn't.” I'm not ready to tell him. Or anyone else.

“Ah. Well, as long as you didn't do it because you think she blames you. I know you’re trying to protect everyone and that this… I know how scary this is. But distancing yourself from everyone isn’t the answer. I didn’t… handle you saying that you wanted to leave well. You just… you have to know that we’re going to stay involved whether you want us to or not, we’re fighting Him too, it’s just an added bonus that we all get to do it together. And that we all get to know you.”

I shrug. “I know but… I’m just… unnecessary, extra danger. It’s bad enough that you all know me and they all know that. And I know this would be dangerous for everyone regardless, but then you add to it that everyone is out looking for me… and what would happen if any of you were seen with me…” 

“It’s really not so bad as you might think. We all have to do most things sneaking about anyway. No one even knows where Tonks and I live. He’s been after me since the first War. It’s nothing new, Harry. And none of us would change a thing.” 

I can’t help smiling at him. He’s got to be about the best friend I could hope for. He always knows what to say. He smiles back at me warmly, but quickly looks away to the food. “I’m practically starving. You’d think, as the werewolf in the relationship, that I’d do the most eating. But Tonks… you’d think she was feeding a village. She’ll eat us into the poor house before that baby gets here.” 

I chuckle. “Well I’m not really hungry. Have at it.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. Oh, also, I’m going to get started fixing this place up today. There was a lot of work Sirius had planned to start on at Grimmauld Place, lots of remodel supplies just set up in the attic. I didn’t think you’d mind?”

“Not at all! That’s great! Like I said I… really owe you.” 

“You don’t owe me anything. And I’ll pay you for the things I’m using if you’d like.”

“Remus. Are you having me on? Don’t be a git, take whatever you want.” He snorts, examining the sandwiches and I take a sip of tea before continuing. “I'm actually pretty excited to see how everything’s done. If you’re really uncomfortable taking that stuff consider showing me how to fix the place up payment.”

“Well… I won’t be showing you everything the proper way. We’re using magic for a lot of the trickier parts, but I’ll show you basic things.” 

“How do we start?”

“First we have to take out everything that’s bad which is… everything. The walls, the windows, all the furniture will have to go as well. I’ll likely do the floors magically, but I’ll walk you through it if you’d like. And I’ll show you how to reinforce the walls before we put in new sheet rock. It’s simple really, just takes time.”

“How does Tonks feel about you being away for all this time?” 

“Kind of thrilled to get rid of me for a while, I think. Fred’s agreed to stay with her for a few days. However long I need to be gone. I suppose it depends on what Severus has to say tomorrow.” My face falls, I can’t help it. I couldn’t wait to see him less than an hour ago and now I’m terrified. What if I’ve misread everything? What if I make a complete fool of myself the next time I see him? Or what if it’s all true? My chest tightens again, a mixture of anticipation and fear. I feel as if my throat’s closing off and the walls begin to close in.

“Firewood? Is there… a lot?” 

“No, not really. I got through about half a tree yesterday.” 

“I’ll go and cut some.” 

“Er... alright.” He sets a sandwich down and turns to me, confused. “The axe is in a stump around the left side of the house.” 

I’m already walking away. I move through the living room quickly, my heart hammers and fingers tingle numbly. How can I possibly face him again? I swing open the front door and run into something solid and dark, that grabs me by the shoulders. I struggle for my wand for a second before it speaks.

“Harry! Are you alright?”

His voice stills me and I look up into Severus's fiery obsidian eyes. His face is pinched with concern. “I felt you-“ of course. He felt me panicking. He cuts off as Remus rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“Professor! What are you doing here?” 

“Simply thought I’d check in. I know it can be difficult to come by the necessities currently. I wanted to see if there was anything I might do.” 

Remus looks at him sideways and moves into the hall to stand before the dining room. His eyes dart down to where Snape still has me by the shoulders, Severus releases me gently and brushes me off. I turn to the side to look between them. The look on Remus's face would lead you to believe we’ve both just sprouted wings.

“You’re just… alright, then. Um. Thank you. We… have all the necessities. We just… lost a floor.”

I laugh sort of breathlessly and Snape looks at me suspiciously. I cut off my laugh by clearing my throat. Remus furrows his brow at Snape and looks at me questioningly. 

“Sort of lucky I guess that you decided to come by. We were going to call you tomorrow. Ron and Hermione decided to stay behind and so it’s just Harry and me. I can stay a while but I can’t stay away from Tonks for long. We thought you might have an idea of what to do… so he’s not alone.” Snape looks down at me and then up above Remus’s head. “Uh… yes. Termite damage. The floor we lost.”

He sniffs and moves to stand beside my trunk, looks down at it then back to me. “Will they not change their minds?” 

“I don’t think so.” I am still breathless, still panicking. It’s worse now, actually. With him in front of me. He’s known all this time… is that why he gave in to this? Does he think we might be…?

“What did you have in mind, Remus?” 

“Well, I didn’t honestly. I don’t think he should be alone anymore than you do but I can’t be here beyond the next few days.” 

Severus nods and shifts his weight. “It appears we are out of options. We may have no choice but for him to be alone and so the question becomes, where is it safest for him to be so?”

Remus nods. “This place is traceable. It would be quite the dig but it’s not impossible. The safe house you took him to…?” 

“No record… but I will have even less opportunity to see him than you.”

“… I don't know how true that is.” He looks disappointed to be saying it. “When I'm not with Tonks I still have missions. I’m supposed to be elsewhere right now, but…” he looks to me then back to Snape. “My presence won’t be missed for the next few days, but after that…”

“I will be available sparingly for a time. But the holidays will be over not long after.” 

“So then… beyond that it’s just a matter of being safest... there, if he has to be alone.” He gestures toward Snape and clasps his hands together. “Well, that sorts that out. He can spend the next few days here and then be off with you, back there. He can always… fire call every so often. Just so we all know he’s okay.” 

They both look at me and I shrug then nod. Snape looks between Remus and myself and Remus looks between Snape and me. I hold my breath and bite my lip, looking between the two of them nervously. I finally exhale and gesture toward the door. There’s no way around this. 

“I was just going to get some firewood when you got here. Remus has made tea, if you’d like some?” My voice cracks as I speak. Snape shakes his head. Remus eyes me curiously, trying to pick out the cause of my nerves. I give him a weak smile before looking back to Snape. 

“I should be going if you've no need for me.”

“Alright. I'll walk you out.” I tip my head to the door and he nods. I wave to Remus who doesn’t smile but waves back. Snape holds the door open for me and we walk silently around the left of the house. A vague trail into the trees is visible from the side yard, I assume it’s a path to where he cuts wood. We remain silent as we walk, the afternoon is beautiful. There’s moisture in the air but the sky is clear blue, a milder temperature compared to the bitter cold I’ve become accustomed to puts a spring in my step, the fresh breeze helps clear my mind. I’m able to relax some and consider what I might be about to say to him. I haven’t really even had time to sort my feelings. All I really know for sure is that I care about him, I've never felt this way before and I don’t want to lose this. We’ve walked for maybe two minutes when we come to a clearing littered with stumps. I see a tree Remus must have fell the last time he was here, halfway gone and an axe sticking out of a stump just before it. 

“Harry?” 

I stop walking and turn toward him. It’s apparent he's trying to keep calm but he's nervous. Maybe even a little afraid of what’s going on with me. I feel guilty. He’s obviously gone to great lengths to try to make me feel comfortable no matter how I felt about what I read. I take a steadying breath and look down at the leaves on the ground beneath our feet. I’ll have to talk to him. Otherwise I’ll just keep making him feel worse. And that’s really not fair, no matter how he feels or what he thinks, after everything he’s done for me, all of the danger he’s put himself in…

“You came because you felt me panicking?” 

He looks at me questioningly, it was an admittedly odd statement to start on, but it’s just occurred to me how scared I was, and he came running with no idea what he was running towards.

“Yes. You were… I was worried about what might be happening.”

“You might have been caught just now.”

He shrugs and sticks his hands in his robe pockets before examining a nearby stump at length. I can’t help grinning. He didn’t care if he got caught, he was only worried about me. 

“I read the book. Part of it, anyway. The section on Occlumency. And your note.” 

His head snaps back to me, his eyes are round and he watches me closely. “I was just… a little afraid. Because we’ve only just started to… and I don’t know… anything… about any of it.” I chuckle a little. “And I was worried… about how you might feel about all of it…” I pause and look down at his feet and the truth comes to me. “I really was afraid… because I just don’t want to mess this up. Because… well I don’t know about any of that, but I do know I really like you. And this is important to me. So I don’t want to ruin it by doing something stupid or saying the wrong thing.” He smiles at me and nods. “Shouldn’t this… just be simple? Can’t we just… like each other for now? Just figure the rest of it out later? If this… connection means something or if we’re… that, then we’ll find out somehow later, right? I just don’t want to mess anything up.” He nods again and I smile back. 

“Good idea. I just didn’t know how else to tell you… that, what was in the book.”

I laugh at his discomfort, how captivating he is when he’s nervous, “Yeah. I can’t even imagine you trying to get that out.” 

“It was hard enough to convince myself to give it to you.”

“I can understand why you wrapped it.” 

Snape smiles broadly and laughs and my heart trips for a very different reason. How did it never occur to me how wonderful his laugh would sound with a voice like that. I can’t look away. And I can’t stop thinking about my new understanding of my feelings. This is falling in love. I am falling in love with Severus Snape. I want to tell him. I don’t know why and I don’t know what good it would do, but I do. I can’t even contemplate such a thing not knowing how he feels about any of it. I take another deep breath.

“I… do want to ask though… did you… think maybe, that any of that was…” 

I can't finish the sentence. He searches my eyes then looks at the ground and rubs his jaw. He looks back at me. “What I think doesn't really matter. But… in my time I've come to realize that… anything is possible. That doesn't mean that anything that book says is true. But… I do-” he glances back at the ground, my heart leaps into my throat, when he looks back at me his mouth works soundlessly, then, “I… care about you, as well. And… would very much like to… not mess anything up. As you put it.” 

I smile and nod. “Good to know.” 

He seems to consider saying something else, but takes a deep breath and stares at the ground instead. Something tingles at the source of the connection, pulls at my heart strings, bubbles in my stomach, sings in my blood. I have to tell him something, he so obviously more than cares. He’s afraid that I don’t. 

“Like I said, I don’t know anything about any of that… but... I… I never thought it seemed… impossible. After the last day it really seems…” he meets my eye, and his give nothing away, he searches mine intently. “I only thought… that you would never… not so fast and... especially not... me.” 

“Why not you?” his voice is low and soft and I feel as though my heart might burst through my chest. He’s not denying anything. He just practically admitted to it. 

“Well… I’m a bit of an idiot.” I chuckle and he tilts his head in acknowledgement. I bump him with my shoulder and laugh harder. “I’ve done nothing but annoy you and doubt you for nearly seven years. I was raised by muggles… I barely know anything about magic. I’m short and scrawny and my hair’s always a mess. My clothes are all hand me downs. Just… someone like you… I’d think you’d… be with someone… like you. Someone brilliant and attractive and courageous… and you’re just… so amazing, at everything.” I blush a little as I realize I’ve said more than I meant to. 

“Is that really what you think?”

“Yeah… you're… the best.”

He blushes and shakes his head. “I meant about yourself.” 

I blush harder and shrug. He steps toward me and pushes the hair back from my forehead. “You're all the things you’ve said I deserve and more. I’ve never known anyone more courageous than you. You are… foolishly so. Sparing little thought for your own safety before running headfirst into certain death. Obnoxious, really.” He grins teasingly and I roll my eyes. “But you are very brave. And not being the best at everything doesn’t mean you aren’t brilliant. To be fair, you haven’t exactly had the typical school experience.” We both laugh and he puts his hands on my shoulders. “Your clothes don’t matter. You always look good. I like your hair.” He runs a hand into the back of it and I break out in goosebumps. “It’s unique. Suits you. And you’re just the right size for me.” He pulls me up against him and buries his head in my hair. I wrap my arms around his chest and put my ear above his heart. It’s pounding, just like mine, and I can’t help smiling. “You’re funny and driven. People can’t help but like you. Myself included. And I really tried not to.” I scoff. “You say you don’t know anything about magic or this, but you can always learn. And the only thing you need to know about this is that, if anything makes you uncomfortable or unhappy, then you say so. You’re not obligated to do anything or feel any certain way. I don't want you to worry about this. All that matters is what you want, what you feel.”

“What about you?”

He's quiet for a second. My head rises as he takes a deep breath. “I want this. You. In whatever capacity you'll have me. And if you decide you don't, I'll live. You're of no imperative to feel the same.” 

“… I do, though.”

He’s quite for a beat and I believe I feel him smile against the top of my head. “Then that’s my good fortune.”

“More like mine.”

“Mm, no. Definitely mine.” 

I close my eyes and smile, taking a moment to commit this to memory. His arms around me, his heartbeat, his warmth and smell and the stillness of our surroundings. What was there ever to worry about? “I’m sorry I panicked. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I hope you didn’t take too big a risk to get here?” 

“None at all.” He runs his fingers through my hair as he speaks. “Personally, I’m glad I came.”

“Yeah, me too.” 

I hear footfalls in the distance and I guess Snape does too as he pulls away. He turns to look over his shoulder in the direction we came from. “I think Remus is coming to check on you.”

I look up into his face and can see his irritation. I check the connection and feel his jealousy. I smile and tug the front of his robe. His brow furrows and he looks down at his front, beginning to fret over his always neat appearance before I catch his mouth in a reassuring kiss. He’s startled, still and I smile against his lips. “Don’t be jealous.”

“I won't have to be in a few days.”

I’m about to tell him there’s no need to be now when I hear Remus call for me much closer. 

“I should go.” He kisses me quickly. When he pulls back his lips twitch into a small smile. He kisses me again, as if he can't help it, more slowly. He puts a hand on my cheek, brushes his thumb across it and when he pulls away, places his forehead against mine. “I’ll see you in two days.” 

I nod gently and try to soak in all of his affection that I can. He gazes at me affectionately before walking quickly away into the woods to my left. I’m not sure how far it is to the edge of the wards but I am sure Remus will notice that I haven’t cut a bit of wood. I don’t care. I smile at the memory of what’s just happened. How is it that people keep a level head, how does anyone get a thing accomplished, while falling in love. I don’t know how I’ll ever keep this covered up… I suppose I just have to remember how dangerous it is for anyone to know. The more dangerous it is, the more likely he is to break it off. That's a sobering thought. Remus is with me in the clearing moments later.

“Hey, Harry. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just…”

“I thought I’d help.”

He waves his own axe and I smile and nod. He walks past me to the right toward a corpse of juniper trees. 

“I thought you might need some help to get enough wood for the next few days.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Plus… I could use the exercise. We’re cooped up a lot these days.”

“I know the feeling.”

He looks back over his shoulder at me. “Are you really alright, Harry? You still seem a little off.”

I smile at him genuinely. I’m better than alright. For the first time in such a long time, I’m actually feeling optimistic about things. Like we have a chance at winning this war and I have something real to look forward to on the other side of it. “I’m great, Remus. Never better.”

He looks at me curiously but seems to settle the question within himself and just nods before turning back to the tree he’s decided on. He’d have to be clueless to not be suspicious of me and Snape. But he seems to have accepted that I'm happy and I hope he can leave it at that. I pick up the axe he left in the stump and we focus on our work. Just as it had before, the physical labor serves to burn away my nervous energy and anxieties. I find myself thinking for the most part of the Horcruxes. So far a journal, a ring and a locket. Things so easily overlooked even if you know where to look. And we haven't a clue outside of Snape. Just the slightest of hints, maybe. Hermione has a symbol in the book Dumbledore left her, one I’d seen Luna’s father wearing it at Bill and Fleur's wedding. Maybe Hermione will think to ask her about it. If not, I will the next time I see her. I wonder what Snape has planned for the Horcrux he knew about, I wonder if he’ll even tell me. Will it be more or less difficult to destroy them with his help? On one hand, he may be able to find them more easily. On the other, he doesn’t seem very keen on allowing me to put myself in any amount of danger, even if it means retrieving them… I meant to leave everyone behind and make this easier, and I may have only made it more complicated. I simply won't let him decide for me what it is I'm allowed to do. And I won't let him put himself in any unnecessary danger on my behalf. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if both he and Remus try to find a way to keep me locked away somewhere for the remainder of the war. I’ve worked through most of the tree and the afternoon has warmed further. I’m drenched in sweat and strip off my jacket to toss it on a stump behind me. A glance in Remus's direction reveals that he has also removed his sweater. His shirt is worn paper thin, full of holes and clings to him as he is also sweat soaked. He’s limbed the tree he fell when he started and he’s set to cutting it up. His speed is surprising but what’s more, he doesn’t seem to be slowing down. I wonder if it has anything to do with his condition, he always used to seem exhausted. Is it the moon cycle? Does he always have this kind of stamina outside of the full, is this what he’s usually like? The juniper tree he took down isn’t the largest near us but it is of a decent girth. Still his swings carry enough force that he cuts through in two to three strikes, a feat of strength that’s both impressive and frightening to witness. Unnerving and unnatural as it is fascinating. I realize I’m staring and go back to my own work, suddenly and confusingly self conscious. I choose not to think on it or anything else regarding Remus as I work. The less I think about it, the less uncomfortable I am, the better.

He begins splitting wood before I do, and we continue in silence. I sneak several glances in his direction and he seems equally deep in thought. I can't help wondering if he's thinking about me... maybe he's thinking of my parents. Or maybe just my dad. I wonder if he loved him, what happened between them that was such a strain on their relationship, on the entire groups friendship, and how I could ever get him to tell me. As angry as I am with my parents, as disillusioned as I've become, I’m actually a little hesitant to know. Could they have been just as ruthless toward Remus as they were toward Severus? I'd like to think not, they were friends… but my mother was Sev's friend too. I have to know, and he's the only person to ask. I begin trying to devise a plan of action and before I know it, the sun is setting. Remus draws my attention by levitating nearly a full cord of wood toward the path and when I look to him, he smiles at me. 

“I'll come back for yours. Why don't you just head back with me and get cleaned up?”

I nod agreement and leave my axe in the same stump I found it in. I grab my jacket and his sweater and jog to catch up. He seems surprised to see me beside him when I get there but pleased. I smile to myself as we walk and look down at his sweater. Things may change between us but I know I can count on him. And I consider myself lucky to know him. We walk back in silence and he sets the wood gently beneath the overhang on the porch. 

“There are towels in that pile on the armchair. And there’s a bath beneath the stairs.”

“Thanks.” I smile after him and hop past the steps to go into the house. I’m suddenly very aware of how filthy cutting wood makes a person, and after the time we spent in the woods I’m not interested in spending anymore time than necessary unclean. After depositing our outerwear on the couch I dig through the mountain of quilts and pillows for a towel, then to my trunk for clothes before rushing to the bathroom under the stair. I hadn’t previously noticed the door, and it brings back some less than pleasant memories to use it. There’s barely any room inside, it’s just like my room. The sloped ceiling, the string pull light, but instead of a cot there’s a small shower with a wrap around curtain and ancient looking toilet, a far cry from the futuristic look of the bathroom in the den Severus took me to. Which I’ll be going back to in a few days. I smile and place my towel on a hook on the wall across from me. I strip down and turn the hot water on before getting in. The pipes groan throughout the house and creak in protest. The shower head actually rattles before a weak trickle of water comes out, then a short burst of spray, then full spray. I wait a while before getting in, discovering the water is ice cold and calling out in surprise. I try adjusting the temperature before coming to terms with the lack of heat. There’s no soap and no shampoo and I laugh before ducking under the spray, rinsing off as quickly as possible and jumping out. I towel off, shivering and change into my clean clothes as quickly as possible. My shirt sticks to my moist skin and is a little small unfortunately, some of Ron’s clothes must have gotten mixed in with mine at some point. I kick my old clothes into the corner and leave, toweling off my hair and thinking about firewood. Thankfully Remus has a fire going already when I emerge and I rush over to it.

“Oh, thank God.”

Remus looks up at me from the arm chair filled with bedding, where he’s busy stuffing pillows into cases, looks down at my shirt then back up at my face. 

“Everything alright?”

“There’s no hot water.” 

He looks genuinely surprised. “Just before… in the kitchen there was.” 

I shrug and sit in front of the fire, towel around my neck. “I dunno. I just hurried, it’s fine.” I look up and smile. “No soap, so it was easy to hurry.”

Remus rolls his eyes and sits beside me on the hearth. “Soap. I knew I forgot something before. Ugh. Harry I’m so sorry. I’ll get the water working in the shower. And I’ll go and get soap. I’ll do it now.” 

“S'all right.”

“No, it isn’t. Besides, I told Tonks I’d check in.” He springs to his feet, snatching up several duffle bags. “I’ll be back.” 

I feel a little guilty and wish I hadn’t said anything as he leaves. He’s really doing his best here and this place is falling apart, barely livable beyond this room and it obviously hurts him. I don’t mind. It’s just a few days, and it’s still better than the tent… but he’d been so worried earlier about disappointing people. I’d like to do something to show him how much I appreciate this, appreciate him. That that hasn’t changed. My stomach growls loudly and I grin. The only good thing to come of life with the Dursleys is my ability to cook. I jump up and rush to the kitchen, where I rifle through every cabinet and drawer and through the entire fridge, hoping to find something good. I find steak (rather a lot), red potatoes, mushrooms, and runner beans in the freezer. There’s an entire cabinet filled with jars of seasonings, they’re old but still good. Someone else must have had an appreciation for cooking. I quickly set the stove, making a mental note to cook his steak on the rare side though it makes my skin crawl as it reminds me of the way Vernon would stuff his mouth full and let the blood dribble from his chin. I shake my head to brush the memory away and hurriedly set about cooking. I wedge and halve the potatoes, toss them in olive oil and salt and pepper, then set them on a flat pan I found in the cabinet beside the stove. All of this takes roughly thirty minutes and I hope that Remus continues to take his time. I decide on sautéing the mushrooms and cooking the steaks a little later as the potatoes will likely take another hour. I wonder if I ought to make more tea. Seems rather a shame, to make a meal like this for someone and have nothing to serve with it. I’d like this to be as special as possible. Petunia always said red wine with steak... which reminds me, he mentioned a cellar. This is France, if I don't find wine in the cellar I’ll be surprised. I check the potatoes quickly before running out the back door to where I assume the cellar door will be. The sun is setting now, and while I’ll be glad to be able to surprise him I’m curious why he would take this long to simply pick up a few things. I suppose he may just be spending time with his wife. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for them, being apart from each other at a time like this… I haven’t even told him to thank Tonks for me. I sigh and turn to the left, the diagonal entrance to the cellar stands out against the foundation of the cottage and reminds me of Snape’s safe house. A pang of melancholy or maybe even homesickness shoots through me and I smirk sardonically at my own ridiculousness. It’s been a few hours, it’s for a few days. I’m being barmy. I open the cellar and pull out my wand, cast Lumos take a tentative step on the first stair, more than a little concerned about their integrity. It holds and I descend the rest quickly. I need to hurry to be able to cook and plate everything before he gets back. Once in the cellar I find the entire right wall is made up of a lattice style wine shelf that’s still relatively well stocked. I select the bottle closest to me. The label says Côtes du Rhone and I don’t know enough about wine to know if it’s anything special, but it's red, so I’ll take it. I hurry back up the stairs and out of the cellar, close the door and rush back up the small back steps to the back door. I set the wine in the freezer and start on the mushrooms, runner beans and steaks. As much as I hope this is an adequate thank you, and maybe even something to mend some of the rift between us, I also hope I steak dinner and a few glasses of wine might make him feel like talking. While I hope whatever happened between him and my father wasn’t as bad as it looked to Snape, I know I have to know either way. I set out plates and find a few smaller juice glasses that I suppose will have to do. There are no napkins but I suppose that, just being the two of us, we don’t need to be quite so formal. The food is done and I leave it in the oven to keep warm while I wash dishes. The water is still cold, I’m rinsing more than anything. Remus is still gone and I’m beginning to worry. As I wash, as a distraction from my fears, I think of Severus. It’s unbelievable to me that someone of his essence could take an interest in me. Like genuinely unbelievable. If not for the connection I’m not certain I would so fully trust that he really is. I focus on the connection and am startled to find it fuzzy and disjointed. Only vague emotions and sentiments fleetingly passing through. I wonder what’s happened, if he’s okay and then a trickle of fear runs through it. Not fear like I’ve felt from him before, not general apprehension but actual fear. I begin to panic, wondering what I can or should do when the connection clears some. He isn’t afraid, he’s comfortable, blank, sort apathetic feeling and it throws me. He’s feeling empty now, his emotions went from paralyzing fear to an bland sort of tranquility. What could cause that kind of change so quickly? And why is he feeling this way, this vacuous emptiness, idle, like he’s… is he asleep? When the thought occurs to me, I can’t help finding it mildly humorous, the simple idea that I’m so worried and he might just be sleeping. I try to feel out the connection more, clear some of the haze, really reach to see if I can be certain. The haze doesn’t clear, everything remains muddled and fragmented, but it seems the more I focus and try to reach him, the happier he feels. A sense of comfort overcomes his end of the connection and it makes me smile. His feelings for me begin to bubble to the surface but with them come jealousy and with that, a strong sense of defensiveness. It’s an urge to protect like I’ve never known. Mixed with the jealousy and rush of feelings it makes my head spin. If this is how he feels, I’m surprised he was physically capable of leaving me here. 

I hear the front porch creak and pull myself out of his feelings. I rush to the living room in time to see Remus coming inside. He looks to be thinking very hard, focusing intently on something, brow furrowed, a bit pale. 

“Is everything alright?”

He looks up, eyes round and smiles tensely. “Yeah, just trying to remember if I forgot anything.” 

I smile back. “I was getting nervous.” 

“Yeah, sorry. Tonks and I had a bit of a talk.” His smile fades and he looks tense once more as he sets his bags down beside the couch. “What’s that smell?” 

I grin, suddenly nervous. “I made dinner… how’s Tonks?”

He smiles at me cautiously. “She’s alright… you made dinner?” 

“Yeah. Nothing fancy.” He smirks at his earlier statement being returned. “You have to thank her for me the next time you see her. I’m so sorry to inconvenience you guys like this. And I’m sorry I didn’t think to say something until now.”

He shakes his head adamantly. “It’s nothing, Harry, no worries.”

I shake my head. “I’m keeping you away from your wife and baby in the middle of a war, that’s a huge deal. Even if she hasn’t said it I’m sure she’s at least a little annoyed.”

“Nah, like I said she’s been locked up with me for ages. She’s thrilled to have different company. Besides, have you ever known Tonks to not say what she’s thinking?” 

I shrug and feel a little better, though I can’t be sure he isn’t just trying to make me feel better.

“Whatever you’ve made smells fantastic.” 

I look up and smile. “Thanks, I’m starved if you’re ready to eat?”

He pats his stomach. “Always.”

I turn and walk back to the kitchen. “I just wanted to do something to thank you for everything. For being such a great friend and this place. Thought I’d make you a decent meal.”

“You really shouldn’t have…”

“Well why not?”

He scoffs, “You’re thanking me for this place? I dunno how great a friend I’ve been either.” 

I pull the plates out of the oven and set them in the counter before turning back to him. “You’ve been an amazing friend. There’s no way I could ever make it all up to you, but I thought I’d at least make you dinner.” He smiles down at his feet and I pull the wine out of the freezer beside us. His eyebrows shoot upward and I smile. “Goes well with steak, or so I’ve been told.” 

Remus chuckles and worries the hair on the back of his head. “I… appreciate the thought but… I don’t know that that’s such a great idea.”

“Well, I know that that we all have to be careful but… I just thought, no one should be able to find us here and there’s the wards and everything. I just wanted to do something for you for once.”

He seems torn, studies me with concern and something else I can pinpoint in his eye before sighing and smiling, acquiescing. “I suppose a few drinks won’t hurt… you likely haven’t ever drank before have you?” 

“Well… a bit of butter beer. And a little firewhisky.”

Remus looks surprised at the last and takes the wine from me. “Hagrid?”

“Yeah.” I smile fondly.

“Great lush.” He chuckles. “Doesn’t exactly count though. Maybe half a glass for you.”

Something about the way he says it has me decided on at least two glasses though I make a mental note to keep my wits about me. I want to ask the right questions. And remember this tomorrow. I hand him his plate. “This one’s you. Little closer to still mooing.” 

He snorts and takes the plate, then sets it beside the glasses on the counter. He pops the cork and pours himself nearly a glass full. He only fills mine halfway. I grin when he sets the bottle on the counter. “I’d go and set up in the dining room but I don’t find gaping holes in the ceiling all that appetizing.” 

I smile at him. “Living room?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“I couldn’t find any napkins.”

“There are some hand towels in the duffel I brought. Just don’t tell Tonks, she’ll have a fit if she knows we used them like that.”

“Really?” he exits before me and I juggle glass and wine bottle in one hand, plate in the other as I follow. 

“Yeah, she's got a real problem with disrespected hand towels. Some people have special ones, you know, monogrammed or gifted. Tonks just hates to see any of hers abused. She sent me with some of her least favorite ones and she still let me have it. ‘If you lose any or destroy one…’” He imitates her exaggeratedly and sets his plate on the coffee table before doing a yacking gesture with his right hand. He goes to the duffle he set beside the couch and I set the wine bottle beside his plate before deciding to sit on the floor across the table from him. He pulls out two towels and tosses me one, then quirks his eye brow at the wine bottle and shakes his head. He sits anyway and I smile to myself. “Just one of her curious habits. For such a klutz she’s really very neat.”

“Probably because she’s such a klutz. Less to trip over, knock down, run into…”

He laughs and takes a drink of wine then eyes it approvingly. 

“What was your wedding like?” 

His smile falters and I shift uncomfortably. I remember how distressed he seemed that day at 12 Grimmauld. I hope he isn’t still thinking of running… I hope he isn’t using this as a way to get away…

“It was the best day. It was quiet, private. Just the two of us. But it was… I’m glad it was just us. Because now that memory, it’s just ours.” He smiles at me and then cuts into his steak. I ignore the blood that rolls across his plate. “Perfect. Well done, Harry, thank you.”

I shake my head dismissively and eat a potato. “Is that your way of saying you won’t tell me about it?” 

“Yeah, more or less.” 

I laugh. “Why so secretive?” 

He smiles. “Well it’s… it’s special, ya know. I don’t want to spoil it by sharing it really. Lame as that sounds.” 

“It doesn’t.” 

He smiles up at me. “It was really something though. Really… changes everything.”

“I think that’s how I’d want to do it. Away from everyone.”

“Yeah I imagine you’re quite tired of the spotlight.”

“Yeah, a bit.” I chuckle as I say it though really the thought of all the attention I’ve had since joining the wizarding world makes me a little angry.

“Molly would have your head if you didn’t invite her.” 

“Yeah, I reckon she’d rather I died alone than eloped.” The mention of the word reminds me of Severus letter and my cheeks warm. I must be turning into a girl.

“She’s more than happy to let you stay at the Burrow if you don’t want to go back with Snape.” 

My instinct is to yell my rejection but I shake my head and take a large bite of steak. “S’fine. He’ll hardly be there. And he’s given me some defense books to study. I’ll stay busy and he’ll have an easier time finding Horcruxes than we were. Keep Ron and Hermione out of all of it. It’s better this way.”

He eyes me curiously. I can tell he wants to ask something but he won’t. “So you lot get on now, then?”

“Yeah. He’s not so bad when you’re not blowing up his classroom.” 

He huffs lightly and smirks down at his food. I’ve got to find a way to keep the conversation flowing and I’m getting nervous. I take a swig of wine and hope it loosens me up. It’s bittersweet but less so than dark chocolate. It’s actually very good. “What is this?”

“It’s a red blend. It’s good, huh?”

“It’s sweeter than I thought.” 

“Most wine isn’t. Blends are good, whites are lighter but a red is almost always sour.” 

“Do you like wine?”

“No. This is alright,” he adds quickly then refills his glass. “But I drank loads of the stuff as a kid and I can’t really stand it now. This is a nice change of pace from firewhisky though. I’d forgotten how good the occasional red blend could be.” 

“What do you mean you drank a lot as a kid?”

“Not as an actual kid, when we were teenagers. My grandparents had some stock or something in a winery. They had more wine than they could drink in three lifetimes. I nicked tons of the stuff. Smuggled it into school, to your dad's,” he looks up and grins at me mischievously, “we were nothing but trouble and worse together.” His smile falters some and I question my mission. How can I ask him to talk about something so painful? He downs his glass and refills it, I note his plate is nearly cleared and think to try to catch up. He sighs heavily and cuts another piece off his steak. “Now, they were good friends. Sirius, he would have stopped at nothing to keep you pampered through this entire thing. You’d have your own chain of hotels by now.” I smile a bit sadly and try not to drown in the guilt his memory presents. “And your dad.” His voice carries such melancholy and affection, I drag my eyes up from my half eaten food to his. He stares into the fire behind me distantly. “He was the worst of us.” He seems to wrench himself out of whatever downward spiral he was in and smiles at me. “He could get us into trouble no matter what we were up to. But he also got us out.” He takes another bite and I hurry to catch up eating. 

“You’re a good friend too, Remus. It’s just different now. Obviously.” I say it between surreptitious, over sized bites. 

He shakes his head. “Maybe… to you. But if they were here, and knew…”

“But they aren’t.” He looks up at me, startled as if I’ve just said hail Voldemort. “If they were, things might be different. But they aren’t. And things have changed since then. We can’t know what they would think or say because if they were here, we wouldn’t be where we are. We can’t spend our lives worried about what people who aren’t even here might think.” He looks at me blankly for a moment, before looking back to his food.

“You’re right. But you weren’t there then, either. I just… I can’t help but think what they would say or do. They’re a part of me.” 

It pulls at my heart to hear him say it. “I get it.” 

He looks up and smiles at me. “I know.” 

We both finish our food, he finishes another glass of wine and takes my plate to the kitchen for me. He leaves the bottle of wine and his glass. I smile and cross my fingers as I finish my glass and pour another, full this time. He walks back in, listing a little. 

“Fancy a game of cards?”

“Sure.”

“Excellent. Ever play rummy?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s easy, I’ll teach you.” 

He fishes through his duffle bag and pulls out a deck of cards, sits down and deals out ten cards to each of us. “It’s simple, the goal is just to make matches, or melds, of three or more of either runs or books, until you’re out of cards. A run would be if you had numerical values of the same suit like 3,4,5 so on. A book would be if you have three or four sevens, kings, queens, anything. You can only lay down one meld per turn, but you can add to your melds as you go. Melds have different point values, face cards are ten each, aces are one and number cards are worth what they say. Easy. Just start like this,” he lays the undealt cards down and flips the top one over, “You take a card, either from there,” he puts his hand on the undealt cards, “or here,” he gestures to the card he turned over, “every time. And you end your turn by discarding, laying a card here.” He gestures to the face up card. “Ready?” 

“I guess.” We both laugh.

“It’s easy, you’ll see.” 

Remus lays out a run right away, explains to me what he’s doing and discards. I pick up his card and lay out a book and we play on for some time, Remus wins quickly. I call him a cheater, he has me show him my cards and laughs at me. 

“Your father had rotten luck at cards, too.”

“Did he?”

“Yeah, though he refused to admit it. I won more money from him at poker than the rest of them combined, and he was always the one to start the game.” We laugh and I sense my opening. He’s not drunk yet but he has drank over half the bottle of wine. I pick up my own drink and take another sip.

“I know it’s… hard. But would you tell me about them?” 

“Your parents?” 

“Well… all of you guys really but yeah, mostly them.” 

He thinks about it, doesn’t seem too thrilled by the idea, but nods. “What do you want to know.” 

I look down at my drink. “Anything. Everything. What their favorite colors were, what my dads worst subject was, what drove my mum crazy about him… anything.” 

I look back up at him but he’s not looking at me, rather at his hands. He’s quiet for a while and then he smiles. “Your mum hated how often we cut class. She never knew if she could expect us to be there. She said she preferred to assume we wouldn’t so she could just be happy when we were. Your dad loved her the minute he saw her but he pretended not to as long as he could. Said she was too prissy. But he was scared to death of her. Couldn’t talk around her.” He leans back against the sofa, I scoot back against the hearth and wait for him to talk again. “Your mums favorite color was light purple. James covered the common room in it one Valentine’s Day, believe it was our seventh year. The whole school talked about it endlessly.” He smiles at me warmly, I smile back. He's quiet again for a bit. He looks away, toward the kitchen. “Your dads favorite color was brown… he used to say it was underrated. People always laughed when he'd say that.” He drums his fingers on his glass. “We were all such trouble. It truly is a wonder we didn't get thrown out. But your father had a way of… persuading people. So did Sirius. Could have charmed a dragon out of an egg… James once talked a professor into giving us house points for going into the Forbidden Forest.” He shakes his head and laughs sadly. “I mean, he even tricked your poor, sweet mother into falling in love with him eventually. As soon as he could find his tongue.” He finishes his drink and goes for another, I begin to worry. “Lily, she was… like a goddess. She was so beautiful. The hair, the eyes,” he gestures vaguely at me, “her skin. She always smelled good, always dressed nice. And she was so smart. Sirius used to joke that she was with James as part of some experiment involving us. Said it was a matter of time before we all read our names in some paper.” At this he glances at me, finally. He shrugs the awkward statement off. “Your mum, she was… perfect. In practically every way. And loved your dad like crazy. And he was…” he looks down into his drink for a moment, swallows hard before continuing, “he was my absolute best friend. I loved Sirius, he was dear as well. But your dad… he was… my only friend, for a long while and… he was... like a force. He could have done anything he wanted, he had it all. A name, the personality, the talent, the looks. He was the type of person that everyone wants to be. And he was the type of person that everyone wanted to know. And he was such a good, true friend. He-“ his voice cracks and he stops talking. He clears his throat and takes a pause. “I’m sorry.” 

I shake my head and we’re quite for a time. 

He smiles sadly. “He was everything to me back then.” He looks at the table. “I can’t imagine what life would have been like without him… there was a time… I almost wouldn’t have had to imagine.” He sets his drink down and fidgets with his hands. His eyes dart to me. “I don’t know why I said that. Fact is, your father was a better friend than I likely deserved. We were not without our occasional tiffs and they were almost always my fault. He forgave me time and again and I was fortunate to have known him.” 

So close. “What happened?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Well it must have been something if it almost tore apart your friendship.”

“It was nothing. I was young and confused and did stupid things…”

I tent my knees and perch my arms on them, run my fingers around the rim of my glass, and simply look at him. I can tell he wants to tell me, if I give him time he’ll likely do so. He tries desperately not to look at me but grows uncomfortable with the silence quickly. 

“It doesn’t matter. It was long ago.” 

I nod and he eyes his drink anxiously.

“And you know it’s… well it’s unfair, this is so one sided.”

I continue to wait and the next few moments stretch out endlessly.

“I’ve never talked to anyone about this.”

I fight a smile and to keep my voice even. “It's about time then, right?” 

He shakes his head. “I really shouldn't… it’s… this is… it has to be wrong.” 

“What’s wrong with telling a friend a story?”

“I… it doesn’t seem right, to talk to you about this when your dad…”

“Listen… if you don’t want to then you shouldn’t. But you’re just telling me something that happened. Do you think my dad would have told me about it?” 

He chuckles, then bursts into laughter. He lays down on the floor and I’m forced to do the same to see him. I set my drink on the table and prop myself up on one arm. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would have told you. Most of the story, anyway. What he felt had happened.” 

“Then what's wrong with you telling me?” 

“… I'll tell you. But please... promise me you won't judge either of us too harshly. Especially not your father… because he can’t tell you his side of things.”

“Course not.” 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this... oh Gods, where to start?... Well… your dad… he was my only friend, as I’ve said. I was quite young when… and my parents… I needed a friend. My mum, she knew your dads. And so, they set things up. Your dad was so different than me… I was… well I’d never really met another child. I’d seen them and… but they couldn’t send me to schools. And for the longest time they were afraid that I’d say something. And besides, outside the full I was so ill… so I didn’t know anyone else. And then one day, your dad just… showed up on my doorstep. And he was so… different. So happy and sure of himself. And he just acted like it was nothing to be there, like we’d always known each other. Like it was any other day. And he just kept coming back… I really didn’t stand a chance.” He lays quietly with his eyes closed for so long I begin to wonder if he’s fallen asleep. “He told me I was his best friend. The best he’d ever had. That I was his favorite. Said I was special. Said he could tell. My parents noticed the change it had on me. I gained weight, I smiled more. They started to let me spend time at his house. An afternoon, a day, I’d spend the night and then I’d spend weeks. He had other friends but he said they weren’t as important. We were inseparable. Years passed like that. We were 10 and he wanted me to come away with him on vacation that year and I couldn’t obviously. His parents told him it didn’t matter why, that my parents had said no, but he knew something had to be off, why would they just say no after all the time we'd spent? He couldn’t understand. He got it in his head that I simply didn’t want to, that they’d lied, that I didn’t like him anymore. He ignored me for a week. When I finally got him to talk to me, he actually cried. And I couldn’t lie to him anymore, I told him everything, I even showed him my scars. And I think… I don’t think I have ever been more afraid in my life… and he said to me, ‘Is that all?’” He laughs and it’s a choked sound. “He didn’t care in the slightest. And he never told anyone. We were closer after that. I didn’t think it possible, but we were. And then we went to Hogwarts and he helped me to fit in with the others, pretended not to know my secret and let them figure it out on their own. But I never could have expected what he did next, becoming an Animagus and teaching the others… he said that he couldn’t just let me go it alone. That he never would again.” He swallows hard and throws an arm over his eyes. “That was when I realized that I… when he said that…” 

He can’t say it, so I say it for him. “You fancied him.”

He chuckles and the sound of it is heart breaking. “I loved him. I knew it then and I kept my mouth shut as best I could but it didn’t matter. We were best friends and he knew soon enough. He knew before second year was over and he made it plain to me that he knew… and he wasn’t just understanding about it, he was… sympathetic. He’d hold my hand in private. He was… flirtatious. He bought me things. It was… like we were…” 

I can’t say anything. My mind’s gone blank. 

“And when summer came… he didn't stop. When he came over or I went there, he still held my hand, he hugged me closer, he’d sit right up against me if he could sit beside me places, practically on top of me. I thought that he just didn’t want me to feel badly or think he didn’t like me anymore and so I thought nothing of it. Things went on like that until our first Hogsmead trip of third year. James snuck us away from Sirius and Peter and lead me into the woods some place. I didn’t see it coming at all, he kissed me and laughed at my surprise. Said he’d already told me I wasn’t going to go it alone. And we were… together after that… it was the happiest I had ever been, and so I didn't care when he said no one needed to know, not even Sirius or Peter. I sort of liked that it was just us, just like it had always been. Things started to change in our fifth year though. He started spending more time with your mother… stated to act differently toward me. I tried talking to him, but he never had anything to say about it. He'd laugh at me… and I was afraid to tell him how I felt… I was afraid I’d push him away, after all it seemed so absurd that he wanted to be with me to begin with. I thought if I made it difficult that he'd change his mind. And so things were… less easy after that… but I didn't care. I would have done anything… and when summer came, it was like none of it had ever happened. Everything was just the same… better, even. And I put it out of my mind. That summer… we… he said that there was no one else he could ever want to be first… than his favorite…” I’m holding back tears though I am fairly certain he has been crying nearly this entire time, “And so we… and I thought… but sixth year came and things went back to how they’d been and I ignored it, just like I did before and then close to the end of the year… he went ahead of us to Hogsmead, and when we got to the Three Broomsticks, there they were, snogging in front of everyone as if they’d always done. I left and went back to Hogwarts without a word and… he never even noticed. When he got back to the common room he told me all about it, as if I should be happy about it… I couldn’t hold back. I called him a fair few names, asked him how he could do it… he asked what I was on about, said he’d never said we were anything, that he wouldn’t have because he wasn’t gay. I was… I was stunned. I had to tell him, because if I didn’t know that he knew, I couldn’t trust that he didn’t care. So I told him I loved him. That I was in love with him. And then he… he said… he asked how I couldn’t have known that all of it… that he’d just felt sorry for me. He was right… he’d never said that he… wanted to be with me. He hadn’t told anyone in three years but… I couldn’t believe it. I was humiliated. And he broke my heart. I told him to stay away from me, that I never wanted to talk to him again. He told me I was overreacting and that nothing had to change… I hated him. I couldn’t help thinking… I’d just been some good deed to him. All that time… I spent a week hating him. He felt horrible though. He tried so hard to get me to talk to him, he followed me everywhere, begged me... But he… he told Sirius he was going to break it off with your mum. Said it wouldn’t be right. And even through all the hurt… I knew that wasn't fair. So I made up with him, I told him he was right about everything and he was so relieved. But it was never the same, he invited me over that summer and I didn’t go and… that was basically it for us. We both got much closer to Sirius… but after seventh year I… distanced myself from everyone and then… he was gone.” 

I am openly crying now. How absolutely horrible. My father… my own father had spent all that time leading him on… sweet, innocent Remus, who’d had no one, who’d trusted him. He looked him in the face when he said he loved him and told him it had all been pity. What kind of person, what kind of monster…

“When I met you… you looked so much like him and I thought… there’s no way I can do this… and then I talked to you, I got to know you… I know a lot of people tell you that you remind them of James… Sirius I think just… desperately wanted you to. But you’re nothing like him at all. Anyone that knew him would know that. You’re everything he wasn’t. You’re everything I thought and wished he was. And that's why I can't be around you without… that's why I can't.” 

“I’m so sorry…”

He pulls his arms off his eyes and looks at me, rolls on his side, shakes his head, smiles sadly, his eyes are red but dry. “Oh no, don’t cry. None of it matters anymore, Harry.”

“None of it matters?! How can you say that?” 

“It was years ago, we were both so young. I don’t know what I ever expected to come of it anyway…” 

“Just because he didn’t say it was anything… three years, Remus.”

“I know. But… you know… he wanted something very different and… maybe he was just worried about people knowing he’d been in a homosexual relationship with a werewolf.” 

I sniffle. “That would just make him a ruddy coward. He said he was your friend.” 

“You promised not to judge him too harshly… he can’t exactly tell you his side of things so... we’ll never know what exactly happened.” 

“Seems pretty obvious to me. I can’t imagine there’s anything redeeming he could say about all of that.” 

“Still… if there’s one thing I could tell you about him… when he chose your mother… he was following his heart. And I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say, I’m glad he did. If I could go back today and make him choose me, I’d let him rip my heart out all over again instead.” He smiles at me and my heart does a somersault. I laugh tearfully and sit up from my side. I can’t think of anything meaningful to say in return.

“… How do think Tonks might feel about me blowing my nose into one of her hand towels?” 

Remus chuckles and tucks his arms behind his head. “I think she might be understanding in this instance.” 

I blow my nose in the towel I’d planned to use as a napkin and he laughs again. I get up and walk to the mountain of linens and dig out a pillow and blanket and chuck it at Remus's head. I pull out some for myself as well and toss them on the couch, then step over Remus and lay myself out. I’m not at all tired but I am desperate to lie down and feign sleep for a chance to think. 

“I can't believe… how did anyone like my dad? He sounds like such a complete arse.” 

“No he wasn't. Well. Not completely.”

“… he totally was.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Yeah he was, wasn’t he?” 

We both laugh. 

“… I loved him anyway.” 

“… Yeah.”

“Harry, I’ll probably regret all of this in the morning.”

“Why?” 

“There are just... there are boundaries and this was maybe… really inappropriate.” 

“I don’t think so.”

“Mm. Well, I’m sure I will.”

“I won’t. We’re friends aren’t we?” 

“… Yeah.”

“My dad was a bad friend. I’ll be a good one, and you can tell a good friend anything. We got started with that today.” 

I reach down and pat him on the chest. He laughs again and I hear him roll over. 

“You’re really great.” It’s slurred and mumbled and I smirk.

“So are you.” 

He hums dissentingly and I listen for his breathing to deepen. After some time it does and not much later he’s snoring. I turn on my side and look down at him. How can he stand me, let alone like me? Who could be near the child of the person who did such horrendous things to them? Why would he want anything to do with me? … he didn't though, did he? I didn't see or hear from him until third year. And that was likely because of Dumbledore and the presumed situation with Sirius. My father… what a prat. After all this time, after everything that happened, Remus is still trying to be a good friend, still worried about me and being fair to him. Who else would ever do that? And now he… has feelings for me. And Snape’s right, it doesn't seem like it's any small thing. He said he doesn't genuinely want anything… there is a lot of baggage there, in the way things. Maybe there isn't anything to worry about. Maybe things will work out. If he could get past things with my father, surely things between us will be okay… I lay silently and stare at his back trying to navigate all of my emotions and the events of the day, willing the universe to slow down and behave a little bit more predictably. I slowly drift of to sleep, thinking on how uncertain everyone's footing in this world really is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to post this, technical difficulties. Thank you for all of the comments and kudos, all the feedback is so inspiring. Please continue to tell me what you think! You guys are the best!


	12. First Taste

It’s to be done at night, in thick woods, under a new moon. There is no light. I am surrounded by people, but I can see no faces, no one makes a sound. I’m surprised to be here, this isn’t the normal practice, this isn’t the usual way. I don’t understand it, but I don’t think it’s good. A light breeze blows through the trees and rustles the surrounding Death Eaters robes, the only movement of their otherwise eerily still forms. I understand I am dreaming but it does nothing to calm me. This is a moment I return to again and again in sleep. I know what happens, I know what’s coming and still it’s as if it’s happening for the first time every time. I relive every bit of shock and horror that I went through when it first happened. And all of the pain and revulsion and humiliation, every bit as overwhelming as it had been then. I can’t wake up, I can’t stop it, it grips my consciousness tightly and it won’t let me go. I’m on my knees in the circle of people, grasping at slivers of my shattered courage, struggling to breathe evenly when a tall, black clad figure saunters smoothly toward me. He crouches before me and pulls his mask away, revealing blue eyes and pale angular features, younger here but equally beautiful in their own ghostly fashion.

“Hello, Severus. I trust you’re good and frightened about now.” 

I open my mouth but no words will form, my vocal chords are paralyzed. 

He chuckles richly. “Yes. Well, trust me when I say that I wish I could tell you not to be afraid, but you really should be. Truth is, Severus, this is not among the initiations I told you to expect and this is not a good thing. You see, he didn't care so much that you're only half blood, that's better than some of these around you, and he doesn't care that you’re an uphill gardener. None of that bothers him. What does bother him is that silly mudblood girl you refused to kill for him. He gave you the choice Sev, and you chose wrong. It doesn’t matter that someone else can do it just as easily, when he asks you if you want to do something for him, the right answer is always yes, even if he’s asking you cut off your own leg. So… Severus, these people…” He glances down at my wand between us on the ground before snatching it up, “these people are going to hurt you. Badly. They’re going to do any despicable thing they feel like doing to you and then… well if you live, you’ll have to get yourself to me someway. I’ll hold onto your wand for you, and if you make it, you’ll be one of us.” He stands and looks around at the gathering. I want to beg him not to let this happen, my control is quickly vanishing, my breathing’s gone frantic, my heart’s prepared to make a run for it. But I hold my tongue. I am determined not to beg, not to scream if I can help it. The assembly begins to approach me. Lucius looks down at me and I see pity in his cold blue eyes. He takes a step back and swings a leg toward my head. I close my eyes and wait for what I know is coming. I know it makes contact, I know I lose consciousness for a time, but not nearly long enough. I know that when I come to I live through every second of torture that leaves me in hospital for almost two months, unable to walk for a multitude of reasons, and a member of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. But instead, something pulls me out. 

Something in my chest chases all of it away, there’s no room for the fear and the anxiety with it there. It feels so good, it helps me let go of the moment fully and I separate reality and the dream. This is concern, the type of concern you feel for someone you hold very dear. It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me… a part of me remembers that I can feel another’s feelings. Someone’s worried about me, someone cares. There was no one to care where I was that night, or any other night for the majority of my life. But someone does now… Harry does. This is Harry. My heart quiets, my emotions calm. I’m sleeping, I remember, it was just a dream. And this is Harry, having felt my fear, he’s worried… he cares and that’s something I’ve never known. I open my eyes and I’m sitting on that shabby futon in front of the fire in Dumbledore’s safe house, I’m warm and comfortable and a peace washes over me. Something bumps into my thigh and I turn to my right. It’s feet, bare feet, toes wiggle underneath my leg. I follow the legs attached to them and see Harry looking down at a book in his lap. 

“Harry?”

He glances up at me and smiles. But keeps reading.

“What are you reading?”

“Arithmancy of Ages.”

“Whatever for?”

“Just been an awful lot of repetition, don’t you think?”

“Repetition?”

“Yeah. Everything just keeps lining up.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He looks up from the book and smirks, “You’ll figure it out.” He closes the book and tosses it to the floor. “Maybe you’re not ready yet.” He puts a hand on the side of his head and props his elbow on the armrest behind him. “Because Merlin knows you have all the information you need to have figured this out several times over.” I furrow my brow and he digs a foot further under my thigh. I can feel through my pants how cold his feet are. “But the truth can be hard to take. And I suppose I understand, you’ve had such a lonely life.” 

“Have you gone round the twist or is this a result of your fool errands and resulting blows to the head?” 

He chuckles and switches positions, quickly pouncing on top of me, straddling my left thigh. “You’re dreaming, remember?” He cards the fingers of both hands into my hair, pulling my head back and closing his mouth over my own. Our tongues meet and his hips press urgently into my torso. He kisses me heatedly, passionately, urgently, I run my hands up strong thighs, across a taut buttocks, he hums his approval and I press him against me firmly by his tailbone. He trails his palm down the front of my body, wedges it between his knee and my straining erection, cups it and begins to stroke. His own hips grind against me in equal time. 

“Oh… Gods, Harry…” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Rather obvious, isn’t that?”

He laughs and smiles against my lips then lets out a low, lascivious purr. “Do you want me?” 

I thrust myself up against his hand and let out a jagged breath at the added pressure. “Yes, Harry, please…” 

“You can have me, then, Sev, but...”

“If you keep ignoring this, you'll kill him.” A voice booms out from my left, a voice I haven’t heard in so long my heart skips a beat and my libido crazed mind clears instantly.

My head whips around to the where the voice is coming from and I see Albus, looking down on me in that reprimanding, intolerant way he had, that made me feel like a child as only he could. I am startled awake, pulled out of sleep by a flash of white, and find myself in a cold sweat; panting and reeling and trying desperately, unsuccessfully, to get a hold of myself so as to sort through what has just happened. Occlumency has made me a lucid dreamer, I can typically control my emotions and the directions they push my dreams in, and I remember them in remarkable detail. But there’s one particular nightmare I have that’s beyond even my considerable control… and I’d been having it, then… my chest. I’d felt Harry, even in deep sleep. And then… something much more pleasant. My far too long neglected erection aches in agreement and I try to put it out of mind. It had been odd, too. He’d been… talking about something he was looking at, and he’d said… what did he say? A frustrated growl escapes me. Why can I not remember this? I remember all of my dreams, but something relating to what’s happening with Harry and now I can’t? What had he said? Something… something about… recurrence, maybe? Was it about my dream, my recurring nightmare? Had it been a sign from the connection that it could fix it? Why can’t I remember? I remember Albus. Clearly. He’d said… if I didn't figure this out he’d die. I scramble out of bed, hurry into my office and to his portrait. Maybe he’s there, finally. Maybe it had been intuition. 

But no, when I arrive his portrait is still empty. I’m disappointed, but more than that, I’m angry. I don’t like not understanding, I don’t like mysteries and I’m tired of trying to navigate this maze on my own. How could he do this to Harry? If what’s happening is such a threat, why would he be so vague?

“I don’t know if you can hear me…” I feel a bit silly, talking to his empty portrait in the middle of the night in my pajamas, not to mention looking for the meaning in this dream, but the last few days have been enough to make me do just that, “I don’t know exactly how portraits work, if you can hear through them or if you’re hiding behind the frame or what… but I’m sick of your games. I can’t make heads or tails of this mess you’ve made… if there’s something I’m supposed to do or know… I don’t know. You didn’t tell me, you've given me nothing to work with. So don’t put me in this position, don’t put Harry in the middle of it…” I wait for any indication of a presence, I receive none. “If something happens to him, it’s your doing, not mine.” I stomp back to my room, a sense of dread settles in my belly and I can’t stop replaying Albus's warning in my mind. I’m to do something, or Harry will die… isn’t he supposed to, anyway? Does he mean what’s happening here will kill him, as opposed to Voldemort’s own hand? … I’m being ridiculous. It was just a dream. I’ve been through a lot in the last few days. Chock it up to stress… I toss and turn for a while before declaring the night a loss and getting up to start hacking away at my mountain of paperwork once more.

*******

The days I’m at Remus's cottage go by quickly, after the night he told me about my dad he cleared the wine from the cellar. I gave him many assurances that what he’d done wasn't wrong, that my dad being unable to defend himself didn’t mean that his side of things didn’t matter, that my dad was a bloody prat all around and that being dead didn’t excuse it and he adamantly felt bad about it still. Things likely would have been more awkward between us if not for the fact that he seemed hell bent on getting the second story done in the two days I’d be there. He's got up, made breakfast waited for me to wake, then went straight upstairs both days. I ate the breakfast he made me, went upstairs to help and was turned away to simply watch. Which I did, both days, for a time before going to study Snape’s books when things between us got too tense. Honestly, the books are a much better use of my time anyway. I can’t practice anything I’ve read yet, for fear of this wands unpredictable nature, but I can still marvel at all the spells he’s improved upon and those he’s invented. He truly deserves the Defense position at Hogwarts. The life he’s had… he deserves an Order of Merlin for his continued existence. The weather here has improved dramatically, it is unseasonably warm, and I have spent a great portion of the time Remus has spent ignoring me outside. I found a boulder with a largely flat top, in sight of the house but a distance from it in the front yard that gets a good amount of sun from about noon to three. For the second day in a row I’ve wasted the afternoon away sunning myself and reading. I haven't accessed the connection since the middle of the day yesterday, he was in a foul sort of mood and when he became aware of my presence, became more irritated. While it hurt my feelings a bit, I’m trying to be understanding and as not to wallow in self pity, I’m trying not think of Snape either. Evidently it’s a shared sentiment, as I haven’t felt the slightest stirring of the connection at all. I can sense his emotions, like an after thought to my own, but I can also sense that he is deliberately ignoring mine. So I do the same. The books still make me think of him, but they’re my only distraction from everything. And I need to be distracted from everything, including my present housemate. I can’t bear the thought of what my dad did to Remus, it makes me sick. I can’t really stand the thought of him having feelings for me either. It just seems… off. Considering my dad. But I’d still like to stay friends and he’s making things… so much more difficult than I’d anticipated. He spoke to me at dinner yesterday, normal enough, but was eager to get away from me after that as well. He went to visit Tonks and I fell asleep before he returned. Today has gone just the same and I’m determined to patch things up before tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll have dinner with me again and I can get him to talk. I drag my attention back to the book.

_Swirl wrist, abduct arm, Spatium Fortua projects energy to force objects away from caster._

Helpful. I practice wordless and wandless, simply hoping to remember later. A cool breeze ruffles my hair as well as the pages of the book and sends a chill down my spine. I look up at the sky, a few rain clouds have moved in and I begin to consider going back inside. I don’t know what I could say to Remus to fix things… he seems awfully determined to hate himself for all of this and as of yesterday, seems to be completely unable to tolerate me. I don’t think there’s anything more I could possibly do… maybe he just has to work through it on his own. All I can really do is let him know I’ll be around when he’s ready to let it go. Whatever _it_ actually is… me or the past. It’s wild to me to think that I’ve just barely begun to come to terms with my own sexuality and already I’m with someone and someone else is... interested as well. I think I’m actually in a bit of shock about it all, but it’s beginning to sink in. I really am gay. The thought makes me nervous after all the ribbing I got from Dudley and his lackeys, and all the talk between Vernon and Petunia about poofter scum… but I can’t deny it. And I don’t want to. I’ve never experienced such a strong response to anyone’s presence alone, but then that kiss… and with Snape of all people. My most dreaded Professor, double agent, leader of the Death Eaters and current overlord of Hogwarts… and I’ve seen him blush, made him laugh, kissed him… almost more. I blush myself and my chest and stomach flutter. I haven’t really thought about what happened… at the time obviously I was lost in the moment… everything was so new and exciting and felt so right, I was just enjoying it, not really thinking. But now… I realize we’d… well I don’t know what you’d call, but it was… hot. For both of us. I’d felt his… _him_. And as opposed to being freaked out, like I’d been that time I’d given Ginny a bit of a feel, I was… well, I really wish Mrs. Weasley hadn’t picked that moment to knock on the door. Not that I know what would have happened… I really haven’t got a clue what’s expected now. I can barely think the things that happened let alone know what I would have done had things continued. And I haven’t known a single person openly of our persuasion, the only information on what’s done that I’ve had relayed to me has been about girls… and none of the guys have done much. I’ve seen a bit of porn, also girls, and it made me a bit nauseous. I had a glance and put Dudley’s magazine right back where it came from… I guess I should have realized sooner but it hasn’t exactly been a priority and I’ve only had female attention. As it is… a snog and a bump are all I’ve done… though I suppose I really do know what’s done, just a little timid as to how I could ever do it. There’s always basic things… hand jobs, blow jobs. That part doesn’t change much, no matter who you fancy. It is a little hard to imagine Snape doing that type of thing… his long, elegant fingers around me. Or his clever mouth… maybe not _that_ hard to imagine. But can I picture myself…? Doing to him the things I’d like to have done to me, the things I fantasize about... what would he be like? He’s so tall, long, everything on him so long and big to match... my skin tingles all over and the fluttering in my chest and stomach moves much lower. Yes, I suppose that much is… intriguing. But there’s more, isn’t there? … and could that really be enjoyable? Having something up your arse? I don’t think I’ve ever particularly craved such a thing… it seems like it would hurt. Is it very different than what a girl has done? I feel nervous and shift a little. It’s kind of early to be worrying about such things anyway… especially considering Snape’s mood yesterday. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s not thinking about these types of things regarding me. Why would he? Maybe he came to his senses after our talk. Disappointment and sadness quickly overwhelms any desire I’d been feeling and to try to pull myself out of it I look back to my book. Just as I begin to take interest, a fat raindrop hits the page. I close the book in a panic and look to the sky, now mostly overcast. Sighing, I climb down from my perch, not overly anxious to be cooped up with a stalwart Remus for the night. I trudge back to the cottage, a little more apprehensive about everything than I had been… between Snape's reaction to the connection yesterday and his apparent lack of interest in it today, and things not smoothing out so easily between Remus and myself as I’d thought they would, my relationships are looking decidedly bleak. Maybe it’s for the best… a chance to let go of everything getting in the way of what I really ought to be focusing on. But I know I won’t be able to. Whatever Snape feels about me, whatever’s going on in his head, he’s practically taken me over. And without Ron and Hermione… Remus was all I had left in the way of friends. I suppose I got what I’d been wishing for… no more liabilities, I’m finally alone. I sigh heavily and step up on the porch. When I walk in, Remus is headed back to the stairs with a sandwich and a glass of water. He stops in his tracks and his eyes shift nervously. 

“I’ve... made lunch.” I look at his sandwich then him. His hair is sweaty, his shirt sticks to him through the shoulders and chest. He's obviously exhausted but he’s also obviously desperate to get away from me, as he continues inching toward the stairs. “I'm nearly done with the walls… thought I'd finish up before I go see… Tonks.”

I can't help that my hurt reaches my eyes. I see it register with him and he chews the corner of his lip. 

“So… back to it then.” He turns toward the stairs and I can’t stop myself. 

“Have I done something to upset you?”

He stops halfway up the stairs but doesn’t turn back toward me.

“… one day things were alright, we’d cleared the air and said we'd not let it get in the way of our friendship and now you can’t be in the same room as me.” 

He doesn’t budge an inch my anger at his behavior intensifies. 

“You could at least do me the courtesy of telling me you don’t want to stay friends. Maybe I wouldn’t be happy about it but I could understand. And it’s better than avoiding me and ignoring me. As bad as it might hurt to lose you as a friend, losing you and watching you try to pretend I haven’t is a lot worse.” He turns back toward me at last, a desperate sort of pain to his features. “All I want is for you to be honest with me about where we stand. Are we friends, have I hurt you, do you hate me? Why are you doing this? Is there anything I can do to just… get things back to normal? All I want is to just…” 

He’s shaking his head and walks back down the stairs. He sets his things on a recently cleared off end table and leans against the couch. 

“I can’t do this. I thought I could and… I can’t. I was wrong. I’m sorry that I… had to find that out at your expense Harry, but it’s too hard. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I… I so wanted to help you. And I still will, however I can, this place is still yours, I’ll work here until it’s livable and you can have it. But I think… after today, I think it’s for the best if we keep our distance. I’ll stay away, like I did before-” 

“But why? Everything was fine, we were fine!” 

“I thought we would be too. I thought I was, I’m sorry that I… I’m so sorry to do this to you.” 

His voice is thick with emotion but I can’t bring myself to care. This hurts worse than I thought it would. I’d thought things were off between us but I guess I didn’t expect him to actually end things. I suppose I was holding out hope that he would talk to me and we could fix this. Remus, the last Marauder, my last real family friend, and he’s going to let this come between us. I’m angry but I’m heart sick too. “What changed? Is it something I've done? Something I’m doing? I’ll stop, I can fix this. This doesn’t have to change anything!”

“That’s… well that’s just it Harry, nothing’s changed. Not for me. Except now you know and so… I’m trying to be honest with you. I can’t pretend…” his voice breaks and he looks down at his feet. 

“… you have been, all this time. So why now…?”

“… I…” his voice wavers and he shakes his head, still staring at his feet. He bites his lip. 

“You can tell me. Anything.” I take a step toward him. “Whatever it is, you're my friend, we can work this out.”

He looks up at me, I think I see a tenderness and want light up his amber eyes before they go cold. He observes me quietly for a moment, then straightens and comes to stand just before me. “I see him, every time I look at you now. I… can't look at you without seeing your father.” 

It’s like a punch in the gut.

“You may as well be him to me now. Everything you do makes me think of him. The way you talk, how you act... everything. It's like you’re him, come back to haunt me. I can't stand it… you.”

“But… before. You said I was nothing like him.” 

“What did I know? How much time have we ever really spent together? These last two days… you're his spitting image and more.”

My stomach twists. “I’m not… I'm not like him at all. You know I'm not. You said-”

I think I see a twinge of pity but it's snuffed out quickly. “I was wrong.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly, I grab his arm and he looks down at my hand as if he's afraid. “You weren't. You aren't. I'm not him, I’m nothing like him. He was cruel and selfish. You know! I could never, I've never once done anything that comes close-“ 

“Haven't you?” His eyes meet mine. I shake my head. “What are you doing here? Why are you here, Harry?” 

“… You said you wanted… you wanted me here.”

“And so you came. But why? You knew. You knew what I’d said, how I felt. And with Tonks, you must have known how hard it would be for me. And you came anyway. Why?” 

“I… I didn't have anywhere else to go…” 

He wrenches his arm out of my grip and begins stalking toward me in measured steps. I inch back. “As if Snape would have just tossed you out into the cold. He caved easily enough when I talked to him. If you had put even the slightest effort into avoiding this we wouldn’t be having this conversation, so if you’re nothing like your father then what is it that you’re doing here, with a married man who has openly expressed feelings for you?” 

“You said you wanted to! You said you could handle it!” I feel as if someone’s poured a gallon of nails down my throat and they’ve spiraled their way into my stomach. My heart’s clenched and my lungs attempt seizing. My voice is little more than a whisper when it comes out, “I don’t mean to, I-I never intended-”

“No, you never do, do you? You take an awful lot of risks, jump headlong into a lot of situations without a lot of thought what it might mean for those around you. What’s it matter that I’ve got a pregnant wife, I’ll come fix this place up for you, what’s it matter that I’ve got feelings for you, I’ll hide out with you while Death Eaters hunt for you, who cares that I loved your father and he spent years breaking my heart, I’ll spend the rest of my life looking after you. I’ve done my best to move on and yet, here I am. And you don’t seem to have thought twice about it. And still you say we’re friends. What manner of friend does that, Harry? Does it sound at all fair? Does it seem familiar?” I can barely breath and still he presses forward, my back is to the stair railing. “Has any of this even occurred to you?” I’m frozen, it’s all I can do to hold myself up through the barrage of his anger. “Of course not. There's no room for empathy amidst all of that conceited childishness. At least James had the decency to be open about his self worship, then again he didn't have the worlds pity to hide behind. I shudder at the idea of the vainglorious pair you two would make, seeing as far along you’ve come in his image without his influence. You're _just_ like him, Harry. Sirius was right and I have been a fool. I’m going upstairs, I’m going to finish the second floor and then this place is yours, and I never want to see you or it again.” He steps around me and begins up the stairs, I can’t stop a strangled sob escaping my throat. I notice absently that I’m crying as I make a dash for the front door, stagger down the path leading toward the stream Remus spoke of and try not to replay everything he’s just said. As I approach the wards I hear the smallest crackling and Severus appears. In spite of my desire not to be a lout about what’s going on between us I rush forward and throw myself at him as soon as I pass the boundary. 

“Harry! What’s going on?”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m so sorry. Please just take me back, get me out of here, please.”

“Doesn’t matter? What’s going on? … Where’s Lupin?” 

I try to pull myself together but I’m forced to choke back another sob inspired by the thought of him. I can scarcely breathe around the knot my respiratory system has become. I shake my head. “Please just take me, I can't stay here, let's just go…” 

“… I have to know everything’s alright first. We can go but I have to know it’s safe. Just calm down, Harry,” he begins to pull away and I only just manage not to whimper, “… who packed our breakfast?”

I can’t meet his eye, my cheeks burn with humiliation and I stare down at the ground unseeingly. “D-Dobby…” 

“How many books did I give you?”

“Four.” My breath hitches but it’s smoothing out. I still can’t look up. He’s seen me cry before but it’s different now. He squeezes my shoulders and I can tell he’s trying to get me to meet his eye, but I won’t.

“What happened?”

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. My bottom lip quivers with my effort to hold back my tears and I can’t imagine how ridiculous I must look. I try to struggle out of his grip and find he won’t allow it. 

“I don’t want…” my breath catches again and my head spins, it seems the harder I try to calm down the worse I feel, I put a hand on my stomach and start to explain that I can’t breathe. Before I can he pulls me up against him and disapparates. The compression makes my chest hurt more but being squeezed against Severus actually helps. I can’t imagine this will be any better, he seems to have changed his mind about me as well, after all. But I won't make the same mistake twice, I won't push him anymore. Perhaps Remus is right, perhaps Snape had been right all along and I am an arrogant, lazy git. How else could I have made such a mess of things so quickly? How could I be such an arse? Now Remus… I'll never see him again. My heart aches and I'm surprised to find myself thinking it's broken. I hadn't ever really considered whether or not a friend could break your heart, now I know they can. I find I've made it all the way inside and before the fire without ever really realizing I was moving. 

“Harry?” 

I look at him at last, wiping my cheeks and sniffing lightly. It feels better to be here, but my stomach is still in knots, my heart hammers and my lungs won’t cooperate. 

“What happened?” 

I shake my head.

He looks unsure as he takes me in but then something gives, his face softens and he steps toward me quickly. I take an involuntary step back and surprise overcomes the concern in his features. He turns his head to the side and squints his eyes at me. The air around us charges with something dark and electric and his voice drops to a dangerous octave. “What did he do?” 

My eyes water and I look up at the ceiling. “It isn’t his fault.” 

“What did he do, Harry? Did he hurt you?” 

He forces me to look at him and I bite my lip to fight it’s quivering as I struggle with my tears. I shake my head again and take a deep, shaky breath. “… no. He just… hates me, is all.”

Snape scoffs. “Preposterous.” 

“He’s just finished telling me, so no. It’s not.” 

“He said that to you?” 

“He said he can’t stand me… he said I’m…” my voice breaks and I swallow thickly. I look down at our feet and steel myself. “He said I’m just like my father. Conceited and thoughtless…” 

Snape actually laughs and my head snaps up, no small amount of anger bubbles up inside of me.

“I’m sorry, but that’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve heard in some time. And I’ve heard some rather ludicrous things lately.” He turns and sits on the futon. 

“He knew him much better than you did.”

“Harry, a single glance between the two of you could tell a perfect stranger that you are the farthest thing from your father that a person can be. You’re his exact opposite. And Remus, having known your father so well, should know that better than anyone.”

“He said as much himself, but he changed his mind…” the thought of it sends a chill through me. If he did, then Snape could change his mind too. The thought of that adds a whole new hurt to the pain in my chest; a different, deeper wound that puts a new light on his distance the last few days and makes me want to cry all over again. Can’t anything ever be simple?

“Come sit.” I look up from the ground and his face is easy and indulgent. His tone, however, leaves no room for discussion and I take slow tentative steps to do as I’m told. I leave an arms length of space between us, suddenly very unsure of myself and how to act around him. He smiles at me and puts an arm up on the back of the couch. He drums the fingers of his other hand on the arm rest beside him and considers the floor for a moment. The air around us still crackles and I wonder what's made him so angry. “… You’ve seen what my father was like… it took me the better part of my twenties to realize I wasn’t him. I wasted a lot of time hating him and hating myself. But one day I realized, he and I never had anything in common. We could barely talk to each other. Being related didn’t give us anything in common, and if you don’t have anything in common how could you ever be the same? You and your father may have more in common than my father and I ever did, but the truth still stands that being related doesn’t mean you’re the same person. Everyone chooses who they are, being an asshole isn’t genetic, it’s a choice.” I can’t help a small smile. “We are not our fathers, and we aren’t who people say we are. You’re just you, Harry, you’re whoever you choose to be. And your actions speak for themselves. Do you know what brought on Remus saying that to you?”

My heart trips. “He… confessed to having feelings for me. And I… I guess I should have left. But he said he didn’t want me to and that he would be fine. He told me what happened between him and my dad their sixth year and… I guess only because he was drunk. I… I sort of tricked it out of him. I shouldn’t have but… I didn’t know how else to get him to tell me. I don’t think he would have told me any other way. He said he’d never told anyone. He told me he’d regret it… and he’s barely talked to me since. Until this. Maybe he’s mad.”

“Maybe he’s embarrassed.” Snape looks distantly into the fire and I think of the incident with my mother.

“… I really don’t think so… you should have seen him. He was horrible… I think he meant it.” 

He takes me in at length. “If he did, he’s wrong…” his jaw flexes and his eyes flash. I think I actually see him swallow some statement. “While what you did may not be beyond reproach you didn’t deserve that treatment. And it doesn’t mean you’re anything like your father. You deserve to know things about James and… I highly doubt you forced the alcohol down his throat. He chose to drink, and maybe he did something he regrets because of it, but you didn’t deserve what he did today.” I toy with a loose thread on my pants. I feel a little better but I’m still not totally convinced. “If you were anything like James, do you think I’d be here right now?” I look up at him and shrug. He smirks and shakes his head. “The answer is, no, I wouldn’t.” 

“What if you decide I am?” 

“Not possible. Because you are _nothing_ like him. I promise. And I…” his jaw flexes and he drums his fingers again, “truly think Remus knows that as well. Whatever made him say that… I am certain he knows better.” 

It seems to pain him greatly to say it. “… do you really believe that?” 

He looks at me earnestly. “I do.” 

I nod and look down at my hands. “I’ve left all my things. Again.” 

“Not your fault either.” He squeezes my shoulder once and stands. “I’ll go and get your things.” I think he can sense my panic. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll be… civil. Unless you prefer different?” He looks back at me with an eyebrow cocked in mock hopeful questioning. I smirk and he smiles back. “I’m sure he’s already beside himself and deeply regretful. Don’t bother yourself with it, Harry.” I nod and he considers me once more before nodding and walking away. I take a deep breath and lean back into the futon heavily. I wish I could share his optimism but… that wasn’t the type of thing you could take back, nor the type of thing you would ever say if you might want to. So… that’s that, then. Remus hates me and… I’ll never talk to him again. The best teacher I ever had, one of my parents best friends, one of mine… I’m alone and it doesn’t matter, so I allow myself to cry again. How could I make such a bloody mess of things? If I’m not just like my father I’m at least the worlds biggest moron. But after my talk with Severus, whether or not I’m like my father isn't really my main concern anymore. Of all the things Remus said, his question is what won’t leave my mind. What was I doing there? Snape was eager enough to bring me back after they spoke… he’d agreed to let me be alone with little persuasion, the cottage was barely livable… why didn’t I just leave then? Knowing what I knew, it was the right thing to do. So what had I been doing there? Trying to be friends when I already knew he wasn’t… or couldn’t be. Was that really my motivation? Is it possible I had some twisted motivation I know nothing about? Some dark, James Potter-esque ulterior motive? I hunker further down into the couch and try not to think about it anymore. Snape’s right, I know who I am, Remus is wrong. I love him dearly, as a friend, and I only ever wanted him to feel accepted, supported and appreciated… I know that. So why am I still worrying about why I stayed? 

*********

I’m surprised by my own level of restraint and self control. I manage to keep my features arranged in a calm and neutral way until I’m outside and away from Harry. I have to take a deep breath and remind myself that the Order would likely be none too pleased if I kill Remus. The look of hurt and guilt on Harry’s face. The way he feels right now. Remus meant more to him than I think even he had previously thought. This has broken something deep within him and I am torn between wanting to go back downstairs to hold Harry until he forgets the weremutt exists and wanting to light the raggedy old piss pot on fire the moment I lay eyes on him. I fully intend to find out what brought this on before I make a decision one way or the other, but I know beyond a doubt that he’ll pay for doing this. 

I’m moving up the walk to the cottage swiftly, it’s raining lightly here now and I suspect a torrential downpour is on it’s way. I barge in without knocking and spot Harry’s trunk beside the couch, as well as one of the books I gave him before the stairs. I put it in Harry's trunk then stop and listen. I don’t hear any movement but instinct tells me there’s someone up the stairs. I storm them and find Remus seated and leaned up against freshly hung drywall. We’re in a hall still in progress and he’s staring despondently at the wall across from him. Two bottles of wine lay on their sides next to him, I assume empty and he’s holding a third. He’s sweaty, it is stuffy here, and his hair is a mess.

He doesn’t look at me. “How is he?”

“That is no longer any of your concern.” My voice is venomous even in my own ears and I brandish my wand without thinking. My anger is barely in check due to my honest lack of desire to hold back. I'm ready to hex him the first reason he gives me. 

He nods and drops his bottle, it rolls across new pine floors and spills along the way. He pulls his knees up and presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees. “Good.”

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you? How could you do this to him?” 

“I had to.” 

“What kind of fool idea is that?” 

“How long did it take you to cave into your feelings for him? A day?” 

I am stunned into silence. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. And how long did you feel that way? It’s been years for me Snape. And I’ve never said a word. But I panicked the moment I was alone with him and now he knows. Everything. And he’s so bloody… innocent. It doesn’t occur to him, that he’s beautiful and flirtatious. He stands too close, acts too open. I can't do it. I can't be around him. He knows and he still-” he cuts off in an exasperated huff and which is good for him. I'm defensive and jealous beyond reason, the thought of him looking at my Harry that way, the thought of him wanting him, knowing it's justified. That Harry does do those things, added to his natural magnetism, he’s damn near irresistible. But to think of Remus with him, my irritation (jealousy, paranoia) that’s made the last few days insufferable reinforces my anger. “He honestly doesn’t even know. I don’t understand how it’s possible… to be that… how can he not know? … But it doesn’t matter. I’ve made sure that it’s not his problem anymore. And now he’s just… he’ll be where it’s best for him to be. Or at least where he wants to be.” He looks up at long last and shoots me a dirty look. He spots my wand and looks back to the other side of the hall. “I said the most terrible things to him. I said the worst things I could think of.” His features morph into disgust. “You should have seen the look on his face. I’ve never-” he exhales jaggedly and the pale light from outside shines on tear tracks running down his cheeks. He chuckles and wipes them away, “I can’t believe you haven’t killed me yet.”

“Consider it a testament to Harry’s good nature.”

His face collapses in distress again. “He wouldn’t have dropped it. He would have done anything to try to stay, to fix things. I had to make him think I hated him. I had to try to make him hate me. I had to keep him away… otherwise… I don’t know what I might have said or done to try to make him… I just… I never expected he’d be so… fucking perfect, I didn't know that he was so naïve or how attractive it makes him, how great he really is-” 

“It’s in your best interest to silence your tongue immediately.” I say it around gritted teeth. “The fact that he is not here does not permit you to speak of him in that way, nor do I wish to hear your ramblings simply because we agreed to try to work together and put the past behind us. Your actions today have fully voided that agreement. Furthermore, forget everything you think you feel about Harry, it doesn’t matter anymore as you will never see him again. Not so long as it is within my control.” 

He nods again, seemingly numb to what I've said. “Good.” 

I find I’m shaking with rage and the urge to do something about it. That’s my Harry he’s talking about, my Harry he wanted to try to take, my Harry that he hurt, intentionally. I can still feel his heartbreak and his despair, just as strong as it had been when fresh and I’m looking at the cause. A weak man, someone who would rather hurt so pure a creature as Harry than live with his own torment. I hate him more than I ever have before. Yet still I hold my tongue. Harry doesn’t hate him, though he should, Harry pity’s him and cares a great deal for him but still, my jealousy is another matter. Inadvertent or no, Remus felt as if Harry was “seductive”… viewed Harry’s behavior as enticing. And I felt Harry’s uncertainty about me. He misread my frustration but there was nothing to be done about it. Nothing to do but try not to be overly jealous and frighten him, so I ignored him. And he me. Had Harry done anything to bring this on? Out of spite or hurt? I can repress my anger, but now, with this… Harry’s mine, and he will know it, both of them will, beyond any measure of doubt. 

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying to you, Lupin.” I move to loom over him, use my most menacing scowl and commanding voice, “Knowing him, speaking to him, simply laying eyes on him, all of it is a privilege. One you have lost for the foreseeable future you cowardly, heartless…” I stop myself as my top lip curls. I find my wand at his throat his eyes are wide, but not precisely frightened. “He isn’t just none of your concern, he’s _mine_ now. And I take care of what’s mine. Whether he wants to or not, no matter who likes it and who doesn’t, I know what he needs, and what he has earned. And he deserves better, he deserves your respect and you are going to respect him by _never, ever_ seeing him again, by forgetting him completely.” I bend down, get face to face with him, inches between us. “You will not seek out his company, you will not write him, you will not have others relay messages to him, you will choose to stay away from him because you do not deserve him. What you did today was unforgivable, undeserved and you are absolute filth for having spoken to him like that, he’s sitting alone right now hurting because of you, because you couldn’t handle your own problems, because you couldn’t take responsibility for yourself, but you will take responsibility for this, and you will suffer the consequence. Stay _away_ from him. If you don't… well, you'll be giving me reason to do something I would very much like to do right this moment. Do you understand now?” 

He surprises me by nodding, though his face is white as a sheet and his eyes are round as saucers. I straighten, tug my robes brusquely into shape, then turn and walk away without another word. I walk quickly down the stairs and spell Harry’s trunk to follow. I walk down the path without looking back, heart racing with adrenaline and pent up rage, but there’s a thrill there too. This is it, my ultimate damnation. I’ve done plenty to regret, my soul was surely a lost cause long ago, but this may be my most unforgivable act to date, claiming Harry as my own. He’s got very little idea what he’s gotten himself into with me, and I must do my best to take things slow, but this is the start of it all. I have never cared so deeply for anyone before, so this will be a new experience for me as well to an extent, and the novelty is both exhilarating and terrifying and I can’t wait any longer. I don’t care anymore about a dream I can barely remember, I’m not going to spend anymore time obsessing over a prophecy I barely believe in nor fully understand, and the judgments of others has never been something I concerned myself with. Besides, this is beyond the point of no return already. If we’re going to do this, then we're doing it my way, and it’s time he knows exactly what it means to be romantically involved with me. It may be a bit much to digest, but it may come as some relief as well. He’ll have no more cause to feel unsure of where we stand, nothing more to doubt. So long as he is willing this may be the least stressful thing he has ever entered into in his life. I can hardly wait to get back to the safe house. He’s still hurting but he’s feeling a little better. I’m sure he could use a little reassurance that he’s still very much loved… and perhaps he could even do with a little distraction... more evidence of my despicable nature. He’s just lost a dear friend and I can think only of myself. Knowing it does nothing to change it. I settle his trunk in my arms and apparate back to him, my heart’s thundering and I am practically giddy. I’ll have him all to myself now. And I got to tell Remus off. An added bonus. It's nearly impossible to keep the spring from my step as I hurry down the stairs. I look to where I left him and he isn’t there, I hear the shower running and move to put his trunk in his room. He’s left the door nearest the kitchen open and I barely resist the urge to look. I close the door on my way past it. When I set his trunk back where it had been before I hear the shower turn off and leave the room quickly, closing the door behind me. 

My palms are sweating, my hands tremble lightly, my heart is racing and my thoughts are a jumble. Today is full of surprises, as always with Harry. I haven’t been nervous about the start of a relationship since I was his age. As nervous as I am, I’m sure this will go well. Harry’s desperate for stability and assurance, and he has such a need to not only please people but live up to their expectations. This will be a perfect outlet for all of that, as well as a way to better know himself through a supportive, protective, loving relationship. And as for myself… just the thought of him causes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His door opens and I smile at his mess of unruly hair standing up in every direction. He looks so fragile, wet and sad as he is. I move to stand before him.

“How are you?” 

He shrugs, “A little better.” His voice is quiet, small. Unlike him. “What did he say to you?” 

I suppose I should have been thinking about that. “He… well, he’s…”

“He didn’t apologize, did he?”

The look in his eye breaks my heart. I can’t think of any lie that will spare his feelings without blowing up in our face at some point. “No.”

He shakes his head and looks down at his feet. “I told you he meant it.” 

“He didn’t mean it.” He looks up, confused. “He didn’t apologize but he didn’t mean it. He wanted you to go, he couldn’t handle his feelings for you. He thought he’d have to make you hate him to get you to leave him alone.” 

“You mean he…” his brow furrows, “he said all those things… all those terrible things, without meaning them, he said them intentionally to hurt me?” His voice strengthens with anger, “He wanted to make me feel this way?” He scoffs and ruffles his hair angrily. He moves past me, folding his arms across his chest, I can’t help noting how broad shouldered he looks when his shirt stretches with the movement. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about that, though. I need to focus. He paces in front of the fire then turns back to me. “Why?” 

I shake my head. I’ll not relay Remus's blame of Harry for this. However… “He said he had to, he was worried if he didn’t that he’d try to pressure you into something.” 

“Oh, God.” Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, brow still furrowed, obviously repulsed which is comforting, but still…

“He said he was… somewhat confused as to whether or not you would be… acquiescent. To such.” I watch him carefully, he drops his hand and gapes, slightly pale. He begins to shake his head, slowly.

“I _never_ …” some epiphany comes over him and he stops what he’s saying. His expression softens and he looks at me with large, earnest, pleading eyes. “I told him I only wanted to be friends, whatever he said, I never tried or said anything- you have to believe me!”

I wave a hand, “I never thought otherwise. Though it is good to hear you say it.” I walk back toward him. “This is all Remus' issue. It has nothing to do with you or anything you've said or done.” 

He grimaces down at the floor. “Then why do I feel so guilty?” 

Beads of water stand in his hair and I skim the tips to flick them away. “Because you’re not at all who he said you are.” His eyes flick toward mine briefly but he continues to look away. “Because you’re such a caring friend, such a good person,” I turn his chin up, gently forcing him to look at me. I'm surprised to see fear there, “You feel that way because he knew exactly what to say to make you do so. You feel that way because he wanted you to, because he isn't good. So don't waste your energy on him.” He nods, his eyes glitter in that strange way they do and the instant I release his chin, drop back to the floor. I wait for an indication of the problem.

“… You really don't think you'll change your mind? You don't think I’m… the things he said?” 

I smile. An opening to bridge this divide between us. “No. I know you're not any of the things he said. You’re not your father,” I run my hands up to just below his shoulders, “you’re not at all conceited,” I pull him towards me and his head snaps up, nervous green eyes study my face intently. I hadn’t realized the extent to which my frustrations yesterday hurt him, “he may have known your father better, but I think I know you quite a bit better than he does. I hope so anyway.” I smirk and I see the first flicker of happiness in his eyes since being back here. “I meant what I said. You're perfect just as you are.” Remus seems to think so too, but I won't be mentioning that. He blushes and attempts to look away as he does so. I cup his cheek with my palm and turn his face back toward me. “Harry, yesterday, when I was so...” for a moment I’m not sure I can say, but then I see his need to hear it written all over his face; I swallow my pride, “I was jealous. And out of my mind with worry about why you felt so desperate toward Remus. I could feel how hard you were trying to reach out to him. I could also feel that it wasn’t… romantic. But still…” here comes the moment of truth, such vulnerability in his eyes. I’ll have to take this very slowly, be very gentle. How there can be such strength behind such fragile need… I move my hand down around the back of his neck. “I was jealous, because I only want you to be that desperate to please one person.” 

He goes positively crimson and opens his mouth. A very quiet, “Oh,” barely audible and likely involuntary passes his lips, as if it were a breath and not a statement at all. His eyes dart down to my lips and back up to meet mine, I take it as encouragement and continue. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant for you to feel unwanted. I kept my distance because I could only feel your desperation, not do anything about it. And my inability to help you for the last two days was so frustrating, and I was so jealous… I didn't want you to know how badly I felt, I didn't want to make things worse for you.” I think he’s holding his breath and I wonder how much this has weighed on him for the last two days. “I still don't. I’m… so sorry. I don’t… I don’t do… _this_ , ever… I’ve always been very defensive but…” I swallow hard, my heart is racing my entire being screams not to give this much away to anyone but his every frail little feature demands to be loved and reaches out to me desperately, “this is different. And it’s not because I’m any different, it’s you. You are… you’re very… special. And more than important to me. The issues we had before, those were my fault. What Remus said today, he was projecting his problems onto you. You are… amazing, Harry. Perfect. I hate Remus for making you feel this way, for making you doubt yourself… but it hurts me more so that I have had a hand in it as well.” 

“It's… not that big of a deal. It’s alright.” 

“No, Harry, it’s not. Anything that makes you question your importance to me, or how amazing you really are, especially if it's my own behavior, is not at all okay.” He's smiling and looks down at the ground, I can feel happiness drowning out his heartache, his insecurities are fading and he's loosening up. “… I’ve never felt the way I feel about you about anyone before. Not even close.” His smile falters and his blush fades, he can’t hide his surprise. “As such, I find I feel… very protective, when it comes to you. It’s very important to me that you know, undoubtingly, that I will take care of you and that you can trust me and my feelings for you. That you know how special you really are to me. Anything that undermines that is, in fact, a very big deal to me.” I smile and he does too, he looks to be experiencing a bit of stunned disbelief. “I know this is all… sudden. If I’ve over stepped my bounds or if I’m making you uncomfortable-” I release his right arm and he startles, grabbing each of my hands in turn as I begin to move away.

“No!” he shakes his head and blushes, then bites his lip before breaking out in a brilliant grin and nervous laughter. “I mean, I… like I said, this is all new to me but I… think it’s… what you’ve just said is… I couldn’t be happier.” He chuckles breathlessly. “You’re… I feel just the same. I was so worried what you might have thought when you told me what Lupin said.” His features are distant for a moment but he comes back to himself quickly. “I just… I’m so… terrified, that I’ll spoil everything.”

I wrap my arms around his waist, “At this point you would have to do something really incredibly, _fantastically_ awful to drive me away. And I quite frankly don’t believe you have it in you.” 

He smirks, “I don’t think so.” 

I move closer as he runs his hands up my chest. He watches them as they go, as if they’re acting on their own and he’s surprised to find them there. “Then you’re stuck with me.” 

“Doesn’t sound so bad.” 

“Hm- ought to be rather good, actually.” 

He looks at a loss for words and I can’t say I blame him. I’ve amazed myself so far this afternoon. My heart is in my throat, I’m fairly certain the weight of him against me is the only thing preventing my trembling, and I think I’ve still managed to come across as relatively suave. Aside from that, I don't typically have to try so hard; my former liaisons having been very straightforward and typically little to no strings attached. Simply, I’m in control, I’m in charge. No one has ever really held my interest for long and it all came down to a matter of casual sex. We knew what to expect before ever even meeting each other, word of mouth being the start of things for us. I haven’t had to… “woo” someone in… well over a decade, I’m a bit out of practice. But now, it’s Harry, and he’s so different from anyone and everything that I have ever found before me, and I actually _love_ him-- I really haven’t a clue where to start. My nerves aren’t helping anything. But there can be nothing hidden, he has to understand what it is that I need to be able to do this, that’s how this works, I earn his absolute trust through honesty and actions and earn my control. It's just a bit more complicated with him… and I doubt if he’s ever even heard of such a thing as what I’m asking.

He’s been considering a point on my shirt for some time. His voice is tense when he speaks. “What do you mean when you say you want to… take care of me?” 

What if I’m wrong? Maybe this isn’t something Harry would want. He’s so headstrong and has such iron will, that can make for an interesting time in some areas, but it could also mean he might be completely repelled by the idea altogether… but that’s what all of this is about, isn’t it? I know what’s best for him, what he really needs. He’s been so mistreated and had such a lack of structure all of his life. And known so little love. Like me, but not. Where I developed a need for control and order and few kinks in my sensuality he's only ever become more desolate. It’s worrisome, what feeling that way can lead to in someone who feels things so deeply as he... I just have to trust my instincts. This could be a really good thing, for both of us. If he’ll give it a chance.

“I mean, Harry, that I want to protect you, keep you. Ensure your happiness and safety and comfort, to give you everything you could ever need or want. To give you everything you’ve ever deserved and never had,” I stroke the damp hairs on the back of his head, more out of nervousness than anything, “all of your basic needs and simple desires, but more…” steady, maybe with a smile, “... physical things, as well. Whatever you're open to. Things you likely don’t even know you want. Things you never thought you could need. I want whatever you want, I want your happiness more than anything, I’d never mistreat or betray you. But… there are certain things that I need to feel comfortable as well.” My mouth goes dry and I swallow. His eyes are so wide and intent, I can’t read anything there and my heart flutters desperately, my mind revolts. Why did I do this, why now? It’s too soon, there’s no telling when this conversation ever would have become relevant. Surely this will scare him. This could have waited a little longer. I could have simply enjoyed some time with him before throwing this into the mix. 

“L-like… what?” His voice is husky and cracks and I think I read intrigue in it but I can't be sure. 

So, what indeed? Where to start? There’s so much I can offer, so much he doesn’t know but what I need could overwhelm any promise I can make. So, how best to put it? “How might you describe me, Harry? What word comes to mind outside of our most recent… associations?” 

His eyes shift nervously. “Er…”

I smile. “It isn’t a test. The answer you’re worried about is likely the right one.” 

He doesn’t look anymore comfortable. “Well… I was thinking you were a bit of grumpy arse. What we’re talking about here, that doesn’t really mix well, so…” 

I tilt my head in assent, though I can't resist a smirk. “Poorly phrased, forgive me. Outside of my own failings where you’re concerned, how would you describe me?” 

He considers for a second, obviously confused what this has to do with the subject matter. “I guess… serious? Stern? Maybe?”

He looks terrified but I smirk. “Just so. I’m… a bit of a perfectionist. I like things… a certain way. I feel I always know what’s best. I like to take charge, in any and all areas that I can, however… I _need_ to… in one area in particular…”

His brows knit together and his bottom lip pouts. He shakes his head and examines a button midway down my chest. His eyes look back to mine and search them, “I don’t… understand.” 

I smile gently. “Harry, I care about you a great deal. Do I strike you as the type of person who often gives a damn about others?” He bites the corner of his mouth to fight a smile and shakes his head. I let my smile drop and quirk an eyebrow to imitate my more austere and typical bearing, “Do you think I enter into anything lightly? Do you think I trust easily?” He shakes his head again and I can feel his breathing quicken. I drop the octave of my voice and add severity to my eyes, “Do you think someone like me would tolerate being toyed with?” He shakes his head but I wait for a verbal response. His eyes flick to my lips and I know I’ve made a good decision.

He likes this.

“No.” 

“That I'd ever even take that chance?”

“No.” Again, breathlessly.

“You’re right. I don’t. I like things a certain way. My way. I like order. I like to be in charge because I know that I can trust myself to do what’s best,” I run my right hand down his back and he shudders lightly, “and I know that you can as well. I’d never do anything that you wouldn’t want me to. I want your trust, but I want to earn it. I want you to want me to take control. It’s all about trust.” Just talking about it, the idea that this could happen, with him, that he hasn’t run screaming from the room gives me a thrill. I’m staring at his lips, I run my thumb across the bottom one. “Does that idea bother you? Being able to trust someone, completely, and be trusted in return? To be taken care of, to know you have one person who will never leave you wanting, so long as you never break their trust?”

His breath comes shuddered. “No.” 

I soften my tone and features at long last. “Do you like the idea of it? Letting someone you trust take charge, being able to simply let go?” He nods his head and I quirk an eyebrow. 

His mouth works soundlessly for an instant before his voice cooperates. “Yes. I… I think I do.” 

“You have some reservations?” 

“I’m just… I'm not sure I know exactly what I'm agreeing to.” 

I smile again. “Maybe I could show you.” 

His eyes never leave my lips but his own eyebrow quirks. “Show me?”

“Yes, show you, give you a… taste. So long as you trust me.” 

He nods gently. 

“Do you trust me?”

He nods again. I sigh gently and turn him slowly so his back is to the futon. 

“I have a rule. A few actually, but this one is particularly important. Answer me verbally, at all times, so that there is no confusion. So that we can both trust each others answers and actions. I will too. Agreed?”

“Okay.” 

I grin. “Okay. Do you trust me?” 

He smiles. “Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He chuckles. “Good. I really was getting tired of waiting to kiss you.” 

His eyes dart up to mine, he looks mystified, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s heard and I can’t wait another moment. The only thing other than Harry’s utter beauty that I’m in agreement with Lupin on is how absurd it is for him to not know. I try to relay it in my kiss, I’m less reserved than I have been previously, not quite letting him know the full extent of my desire but I'm much more aggressive than before. Using my height to my advantage, I tilt his head back and push him toward the futon, forcing him to use me as support as I in turn carry his weight, one hand on his lower back, one across his broad shoulders. I lay him on the futon and then I’m on top of him, straddling one of his thighs, supporting my weight with an arm over the top of his head and my knees, leaving one of my hands free to roam at leisure. I startle a laugh from him when I drop him and when his mouth leaves mine I take the opportunity to readjust myself, quickly removing my outer robe and tossing it to the ground. He watches it fall, further surprised at my disregard. I grab his hips and tug him down and to the right, both to give myself more room and to adjust our position so he has something (me) to writhe against momentarily. His face flushes and I smirk knowingly before pressing myself back against him. For the time being, I run my left hand into his hair and wrap my other arm back around his waist. He runs his hands up into my hair, pushing it back away from my face and dragging his fingers along my scalp. I moan into his open mouth, our tongues meet at the same time, making both of us smile. I force my tongue further into his mouth, press his head back into the seat and run my right hand around, up then back down his side. I squeeze his hip and bear mine down against his, he’s already hard and my heart beats even more furiously at his responsiveness. 

I bite his lip and he moans, tugging my hair gently and bucking slightly. I smile and brush the tip of my nose across his cheek, pecking it as I go and turning his head for better access to his neck. I kiss tenderly just below his ear and trail kisses down from there before nipping just above where his shoulder and neck meet. 

He jumps and groans then tilts his chin, extending his neck obviously pleased with the sensation. I bear more of my weight down on his groin and run my right hand up his shirt, spreading my fingers out flat to feel the warm expanse of his smooth belly and the sparse path of hair there. I trail my tongue up his neck and nip again back where I started. His hips jerk and I position myself so our erections press against each other, sucking gently above his pulse. He presses against the back of my head for more and runs his other hand down my arm. 

“Oh, God, that’s-”

I pull off and run my nose across the front of his neck, place a gentle kiss on his Adams apple, using the hand still in his hair to turn his head and assault the other side of his neck. He pants encouragements at me and our hips move together in time. My hand works its way upward to his chest, I rub my thumb around his breastbone for a time, before spreading my fingers over his well shaped but not overly prominent pectorals and brushing a thumb across his nipple. He jerks as if electrified.

“Holy- fuck!”

I do it again, then pinch gently. He jumps both times and moans enthusiastically. I release the flesh I have my mouth around to murmur in his ear. “Do you like that?”

“Oh, bloody hell yes.” 

“Then you’ll really like this.” I pull his shirt upward, and he eagerly assists me, wriggling and grabbing it once it’s high enough to rip it off. His glasses go flying off with the shirt when he tosses it away and we both laugh. He pulls me back down into a kiss but I break it quickly. I look him over at length, he's like a feast for the eyes, and the way his whole body flushes, it's delicious. 

“You are… truly something else, Harry.” I hum with pleasure and run my hands along the planes of his body before trapping his arms at his sides by the wrists. I meet his eye, “Is this alright?” 

He nods and I tilt my head.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, rules, pet.” The endearment surprises me, I’m not one to name a sub. Especially not without discussion or on the first time.

He smiles and I’m surprised that he seems to like it. “Sorry, yes. I… like it.” 

I decide to give him a free pass, mostly due to the cornucopia before me, and greedily dip down for a taste. I start at his collar bone, running my tongue along it, then into the hollow, and blow air across the moisture I leave behind. He exhales shakily and tries to find purchase to move our hips together. I trap his thigh between mine to remove any chance of that happening, deciding I’d like to see his response to being pushed and what other sort of opportunity for a lesson may come up… as well as his reaction to that. My own need has been neglected for so long that it is hardly of concern, though with Harry before me I know I'll have my satisfaction one way or another today, which I admit instills the room for a little extra patience. I trail kisses down his chest, lap at his breastbone, blow air over that and move toward his freshly hardened left nipple. I circle it with my tongue before teasing it with a few flicks. He bucks wildly, still trying desperately to gain any pressure or friction I’m willing to grant him and I respond with a nip to the sensitive bud. 

“Ha-aah! Oh my God!” 

I nip it gently again and he groans, his hips straining. While I am pleased by his responsiveness, I have to wonder at his enthusiasm. It’s as if he’s never even been touched. I suppose he may have just been anticipating this as much as myself. I move to the right and take the whole thing into my mouth, he squirms desperately and turns his arms in my grip. I take it between my top teeth and tongue, then run my teeth across it with a lengthy tug. He writhes and moans and I take the abused party into my mouth to hum over it. He rolls his body beneath me. As sensitive as he seems to be that’s probably enough of that. I lick the delicate skin where his pecs curve and begin my descent toward the real goal. I release his arms, “You may move,” and continue downward. He’s done marvelously with these most basic things, and I’m thrilling to see how far I can take this. I haven’t been this excited about a partner in eons. I kiss and nibble at length, trying to drag as many sounds out of him as I can and committing every one and their corresponding cause to memory. I run my hands over every inch of skin I can get to and trace my fingertips gently over every bump and curve on my way down to his hips. I grab his hip bones and shove them down, trapping them firmly. I run my tongue around the outer edge of his belly button then dip it in to fervent keening and ardent whimpers of pleasure that fill my ears. I run my nose through the hairs leading down from there, stirring up his musk and inhaling deeply. I kiss the flat planes of his abdomen to either side and hook my thumbs into the waistband of his pants to tug them downward and lick, nibble and kiss the pale flesh exposed inch by inch there.

“Sev…” 

I hum an airy, “Yes,” in response and pull his clothing down further, tugging gently with my teeth on the hairs just above my prize, which I’m ready to release from its denim prison. 

A hand knots in my shirt. “Sev, wait, please.” His voice is breathless and shaking though not entirely with pleasure. He’s afraid. I spring up quickly from my work and meet his eye.

“What is it?” 

His whole body flushes, he throws himself back to lay flat, and tosses his arms over his head. I give him a moment and when he doesn’t respond I climb up his body, fold my fingers into his, pull his arm off of his eyes (which he squeezes shut) and allow him to catch his breath. 

“Have I done something?” He shakes his head and I nip his earlobe. He startles and laughs and I kiss his cheek. “Rules. Talk to me.” He smiles and turns his head to kiss me. It’s a little hesitant and it worries me, after everything we’ve just done how could he possibly be unsure about a kiss? I kiss him back firmly as reassurance and press myself against him closely to nuzzle against his face when we break apart. “What is it?”

“I’m just… a little… nervous, I guess.” 

“Why?” 

He swallows hard and shifts his weight slightly to face me. He searches my eyes before biting his lip. I smile. 

“Trust me.” 

He exhales shakily and his face becomes more serious than you like to see in these sorts of situations. “I’m nervous because… I’ve never…” 

It clicks into place. “Right. As you said so eloquently before, I’m your first bloke.” He rolls his eyes and I fight to contain myself until he’s ready to talk, though I can feel him pulsing against my leg, every throb causing a residual ache of my own. I force myself to hold still and give him time. I know how important this first experience, the confirmation of everything, is. All too well. My own having been a complete wreck. He’s silent several long beats, he squeezes my hands when he finally does speak.

“You are but I mean I… I’ve never…” 

Oh. He doesn’t… he can’t mean… I cock my head and quirk an eyebrow. 

“At all. Ever. I haven’t... ever.” My mind goes blank. “And I… I’m a little… nervous. I just… I know it’s stupid. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He rolls his eyes up at the ceiling and exhales deeply. I snap out of it.

“Harry, are you joking? Of course you should have said something. I wish you would have said something before!” His eyes are full of nerves and intensity when he looks back at me. My thought from before reoccurs to me. “Everything I just did, you’ve never… what have you done before?” 

He blushes and shakes his head. “No ones… ever… I’ve… felt a girls… through her shirt. But…” 

Oh my God. Oh Gods. Merlin, help me. Albus, forgive me. What have I done here? What was I thinking?! … What do I do now? 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is so small it is physically painful to hear.

“No! No, Harry, no.” I kiss him tenderly, openly. “Don’t be sorry.” I kiss him again and run my thumbs across his. “You did the right thing, thank you for telling me. For trusting me. I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have asked, I was thoughtless. I failed you, after all of that big talk.” 

“It’s alright, you couldn’t have known.” 

“It’s my job to know. To think of these things. I’m just glad that you stopped me.” 

“… I didn’t mean to stop you.” 

I turn my head again. 

“I… I don’t want you to stop. I want you to… I want you, I’m just… I was a little afraid. But I trust you.”

I consider him for a moment. This is quite possibly the hottest moment of my life so far. Gorgeous, savior of the world Harry Potter laying beneath me, confessing his virginity and asking me to take it. My heart tries to beat it's way through my ribs and my skin tingles all over. Every inch of my body compels me to tear him apart. 

“… No.” 

His face shifts to horror. His eyes go wide. “… No?” 

“No, not like this.” I kiss his cheek and move to get up.

He grabs my forearms to stop me. “Sev, please.” 

Oh, Gods, not asking, begging. “No, Harry.” 

“After all of that?!” 

“Your first experience shouldn’t have been like this.” 

“Maybe you’re confused, that isn't my wand digging into your hip. I am fully onboard with all of this.” He smirks and I feel some of my morals on the subject try to wane. I shake myself mentally.

“Only because you don’t know any better. This is a one time thing, something you can’t take back and you’ll remember forever. I’ve done enough damage, I’ll not ruin it completely.” I try to get up again and he throws his arms around my neck.

“Damage? You may damage something if we don't finish what we started and nothing so frilly as what you're talking about. I’m not some bloody girl, I don’t need flowers and candles and music to want this, so what, then?”

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Candles and flowers aren’t the only way to make something memorable. It just… ought to be more… special than this.” 

“It doesn’t get any more special than this.” The look in his eye stops me and for an instant I can’t breathe. No one has ever looked at me like that before. He gives me his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?” 

I want to. “No.” I duck out of his arms and spring up on my knees, between his legs. “It just isn’t right.” 

He groans loudly. “Why didn’t I just keep my bloody mouth shut?” 

I do feel a bit guilty, his cock continues to strain desperately, futilely against his pants… aside from guilt I feel my own disaffected hunger and frustration war against my sensibilities. Half naked, sexually tormented Harry, laid out before me, desperate for me… it really isn’t fair to leave him this way… not when teasing and leaving him wasn’t what I set out to do. I suppose… we needn’t do everything. There’s probably more harm in leaving him this way than giving into what he needs. Though, nothing more. I’ll save what’s really impressive for later. Not that I’ll allow this to be mundane. I’d like to keep the air of intrigue, even in this. And I suppose this isn’t exactly the loss of his virginity, just… relief.

“Rather dramatic, aren’t you?” 

He smirks. “Shut it, you bloody tease.” 

I chuckle. “Check your attitude, Potter, you'll find yourself punished otherwise.”

“What do you call this?” 

My fingers, long accustomed to buttons, undo his pants quickly and he gasps when my knuckles brush his erection while dropping his zipper. Even his boxers look large for him. “I'm sorry, is this torturous for you? Perhaps I’ll stop.” He stammers and shakes his head. I force my smile away and quirk an eyebrow in reprimand. 

“Sorry, sorry! Please, do…” he gestures loosely with his hand, “continue.”

I massage his hips with my thumbs, moving my hands away distresses him some but I find I’m rather distracted by his barely concealed cock now very near my face. I need to talk, calm myself down some. I drag my eyes away and meet his. 

“Are you very, entirely sure this is what you want?” 

The question barely passes my lips before he answers, “Yes, Gods, please yes. I’m so, so sure.” 

I smile again, “I'm sorry I didn't think to ask,” I drag fingers slowly back and forth across his abdomen, just above his trouser line, “I honestly thought there was no way you could be a virgin.”

He blushes and leans back with a groan. “Please don’t use that word.” 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

“Oh, really? I’m fairly certain I’m the only bloke in my class who is, you assumed I wouldn't be... seems that would mean it’s fairly unusual to me.” 

“You’ve been a little preoccupied.” 

“I guess… ”

“Not to mention the small matter of your sexuality. A lot of people avoid sex subconsciously when they’re gay, before they come to terms.” 

“… Yeah?” 

I run my hands down the sides of his muscular thighs, pulling his pants further down as well. The outline of Harry’s dick fuels the butterflies in my stomach. He’s large. “Even if that wasn’t the case, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s something that everyone is at one time and isn’t eventually, it’s not a race or a competition, just something that happens when it happens, hopefully with someone you trust and becomes a memory you can cherish… and I assumed you wouldn't be because you're so spectacularly gorgeous you could have whatever you want from whoever you want.” He snorts. “It's true… and part of the reason I want you to think very hard about whether or not you actually want this, now… with me.”

He props himself up on his elbows. “What's that supposed to mean?”

I sit up on my knees. “Just that… you can’t take any of it back. And… it’s me. I’m… complicated, and old. Set in my ways.”

He smiles. “You put on a good show, but you’re pretty sensitive, eh?”

“Need some help getting your trousers back on?”

He wraps his legs around me, tugging me towards him and I put my arms out to catch myself. I’m only human, if I feel his cotton clad hard on pressed up against my stomach I’ll likely cave entirely. I try to look at him disapprovingly as he wraps his arms around my neck, but I don't think I quite pull it off.

“You're not old. And I like you and your… ways.” He smirks. “You said only what I'm comfortable with, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, what's the problem with that?” 

“You're just so inexperienced. I-”

“You're worried I'll change my mind?”

I smile down at him tenderly. “Yes, I suppose that’s it.” 

“I’m not going to. I like you. I like this. I want it… all of it, so far.” 

“You’re just so beautiful.” 

He scoffs and rolls warm green eyes. “Try handsome.” 

“You’re beautiful and handsome… you could do much better.”

He shakes his head slowly, smiles softly, takes my face in at length, “No, I don’t think so.” 

“You must be mad. The pressure finally got to you.”

He laughs, “You’re a git.”

“You’re barking.”

“Shut it.”

“Make me.”

He beams up at me, “Gladly.” When he closes our mouths together I rest my weight against him without thought. A contented moan of pleasure brings my attention back to the matter pressing into my abdomen. I ignore my bodies response as best I can, through great pains admit to myself that I’ll find no relief here tonight and put it aside, then slide off of him to lay along his side, my thigh over his own. 

Our tongues tangle once more, I run my hand up and down his body, admiring the silky texture, dipping just below his waistband occasionally. I wait for his breathing to become erratic, until he’s bucking once more, to separate. I hook my thumb into his boxer shorts and tug them down just before his erection. I look up to his face, he’s watching me intently, lust clouds his eyes, his chest heaves, his lips are kiss swollen. The picture of sensuality. I know I’ve never tested my own restraint this thoroughly. “You’re sure?” 

He smiles, “Yeah, I'm sure.” 

I look back to my task quickly, unable to conceal my own eagerness. The waistband of his shorts doesn’t make it all the way past the head of his cock before it springs out at us, engorged and throbbing, painfully erect. It’s just as beautiful as the rest of him, a little longer than average, not too thick, an alluring purple pink, the corners of my mouth curve. 

“Perfect.” I murmur it as I slide my hand down the inside of his thigh, tugging his clothes further down, and run my hand back up, to fondle his tight, pert balls. He jumps when I brush my fingers across them and moans when I wrap my fingers around them. I roll them experimentally, run my thumb gently down the raphe from the base of his penis to above where I'm cupping and he shudders. His hips twitch wildly and a glistening pearl of precum forms on his bulbous tip. My mouth waters. It would be so simple a thing to lean over, take him in my mouth and taste him, feel that rigid, silky muscle press down my throat. But not like this. A hand job is one thing, but nothing so intense as that. And where do I draw the line if I cave to it? No, not today. I squeeze gently and crane to kiss him. He wraps an arm around my neck and pulls me closer, holds onto me as if for his very life, kisses me as if he needs it more than the oxygen he takes in shudderingly. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I press my body against his, squeeze him a little more firmly. He moans into my mouth and I run my palm across him, up the length of his cock, he jumps and pulls back to gasp. I run my thumb up over his frenulum, onto the tip and dip it into the bead of precum still there.

“Oh, God, fuck-”

“Still alright, pet?” I roll my moistened thumb around the head, wrap my fingers soundly around the base and squeeze.

“Haah Sev, please-”

I begin stroking him, “Just checking.” His hips pump back up into my hand as I move, I can feel his dick pulsing in my hand and I know he won't last long. I pull a little more swiftly, contract my hand in time with the pulses and can’t stop myself grinding against his hip. He’s panting and groaning, I lean down and kiss his collarbone before licking down to his left nipple. I take it between my teeth and nip gently, he bucks into my hand and I pump faster still, then tease his nipple with flicks of my tongue. 

“Sev- ah, please, I’m, I’m going to--”

I suck hard and he writhes beneath me. His right hand comes up to tangle in my hair and my occupied hand claps against his skin. His back arches. I pull away to take in the sight of him, this is a moment I’d like to remember. His face is flushed and wanton, head thrown back, he tugs his bottom lip with his teeth. “Let go, Harry.” His back arches again and his breath hitches. 

His brow furrows, “I-I… oh, I can't,” he blushes, visible even with his flush, and squeezes his eyes shut tightly, “I’m…”

He’s shy. I smile. It seems sweet to me. Innocent. “It’s alright,” I lean in for a peck on the lips. I trail kisses to his ear and murmur against it. “I want you to, Harry. I want to see.” He shudders almost violently. “Can you feel how hard I am against you? You’re so fucking hot Harry, so goddamn sexy. All that’s missing is your big load, I want to know you like this too. I want to know how much. I want you to cum for me.” As soon as I finish the sentence I feel his cock stiffen and I stroke down, hard. 

“Oh, fuck!” A stream of ejaculate launches up and splatters across his flat chest and belly. More spurts out and pools on his lower abdomen, more than I believe I’ve ever seen from one person in all my life. I continue slow hard strokes until he stops cumming. His hand falls out of my hair and I can see his pulse in his chest his heart beats so furiously. His eyes remain closed, a smile spreads slowly across his face. I smile back even though he can’t see me and take him in at length. His torso, sweaty and covered in semen, even if it is just his own… I want to lick him. I hold back. Wouldn’t do to push him too far… or myself, considering. As it is I throb miserably and decide I could use a distraction. I pull my wand out of the waistband of my pants and spell him clean, he jumps in surprise.

“Bloody hell.”

“Sorry, should have warned you.” 

“Yeah, next time please do.”

“Next time, eh?” 

He smiles, “Unless you'd planned on a one off.”

I roll my eyes, “Just pleased by the concept of a next time.” With a long suffering sigh I roll away and walk awkwardly to the kitchen, willing away my erection. 

“Woah, wait… what?” I hear fabric rustling then his zipper. “What are you doing?”

“Making some tea. And then perhaps something for you to eat.” 

“Er… okay. But… what about, well… you?”

I smile. “Thanks for the offer, I guess I can eat some of the meal I’m cooking.” 

He scoffs and I sense his eye roll, “Not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“I know you know.” He comes and stands beside me at the half stove, still shirtless.

“There’s no hurry.”

“Looks rather urgent to me.” He smirks and looks pointedly down at my tented trousers.

“Later. Now either move or put some clothing on if you intend to stay this close to the stove.” 

He takes a single step away. “Is it… do you not want to… now?”

“What are you babbling about?”

“Well, I… you didn't know I’d never… and… if you don't want to now I-”

“And you say _I'm_ sensitive.” I turn to him and fold my arms across my chest. “If anything, I want you more, Harry. But it's important to take this slowly. You'll thank me later. And you are more than worth waiting for.” 

“I just don't understand why you're waiting… can't I just… do what you did for me?” 

I can't repress my smirk. “You could… but it wouldn't be right. I don't want to… overwhelm you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just… trust me.” 

He wraps his arms around his stomach and shrugs. “Just… feel a little guilty.” 

“It’s my choice, nothing to feel guilty about.” I step toward him and fold my arms around him. “Believe me, I want it,” My erection presses against his belly, “after this, I don't believe I could stop wanting you if I tried. Now, what do you want to eat?” 

He chatters happily for nearly an hour, all the while I cook, asking me everything he can think to about my person. My favorite color, favorite food, favorite book and the opposite as well. He even asks me about Potions, upon answering I only barely refrain from a scathing comment on his lack of ability to understand my answers. Opposite of class, I find he’s eager to listen. He asks questions he ought to know the answers to but are still intelligent and relevant. This sort of prattling usually annoys me, but he seems happier than I’ve seen him these last several days, the connection glows with it which gives me an extra thrill of pleasure and I’m happy to listen. When we’re seated he spends some time eating quietly and I can’t help watching him, marveling at his good looks and my good fortune. If we're to die for this cause, surely we deserve this, surely this is what Albus intended, what my dream meant. The ominous overtone of my dream remains but… I can’t control this, can’t stop it. I love him, I’m in love with someone for the first time in my entire life. My heart swells with it, I think about everything that’s happened this afternoon and it all feels so right. This is it, what everything’s been leading to. I don’t deserve him, I haven’t earned this happiness, but through whatever strange twist of fate has occurred, I’m here, with him and he’s mine. And I’d rather die than lose him, rather confess to Voldemort than harm him. And finding myself here, feeling this for him, if I couldn’t find myself here any other way, then everything was worth it. 

He looks up from his meal and smiles shyly, “What are you thinking about?” 

I smile back, “You.” 

He blushes and digs through his vegetables for a time. I can feel him reveling in my emotions through the connection. 

“Have you had time to look for anything on the connection?” 

A source of much stress. I sigh. “No. With everything, the power shift and changes at the Ministry, I’ve had a lot of officials to brush elbows with and I’ve been trying to sort the texts He gave me, trying to get ahead of Him or at least catch up.” I consider the damage that might come from telling him what else I have to say before deciding he needs to know. “I have discovered, among His documents, the closing of Bellatrix’s account at Gringott’s as well as the liquidation of all of her valuable assets and the possessions within her vault… all but one miscellaneous item.” He studies me closely. “That’s how it was listed. No description, only miscellaneous. There’s no accounting of it’s sale.”

“You were right.”

“No real surprise. Common sense brought me to the conclusion, an educated calculation is rarely wrong.” 

“But then He must have taken it with Him.”

“I’m agreed.”

“Why would He do that, why would He keep it on His person?” 

“Perhaps He thinks He’s found a better means of hiding it.” 

Harry furrows his brow in thought then shakes his head. “If He thought it wasn’t safe, if He wanted to hide it better, if that was it, then He would have done it before now, don’t you think?” 

I nod and drum my fingers. “I just don’t know what else. I only hope I can find answers in the mess He’s left me.” 

He eyes me for a moment and some disconcerting mixture of guilt and fear fills him. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when he takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. It suddenly occurs to me that he never put a shirt on. “You’re really incredible. Honestly. Everything that you’ve been doing to help me. To help our side. No one else could have done it. Even if they could, I doubt that they would. And all the trouble I’ve been… I’m just… I’m sorry.”

I smile at him, “In retrospect, you have been quite a bit of trouble.” He looks up and sees my smile, the shadow of one graces his features. “Hours of stress and headaches, wasted time in detentions. Not to mention the cost of all that red ink.” He smirks at me. “It’s about time I got some return on that investment.” 

His eyes roll over me hungrily. “You just say the word. I’ll pay you back with interest.” 

I chuckle. “Not today.” He huffs. “Patience. Soon.” I glance up at him, his hands are behind his head, displaying his well muscled body more than I’m really comfortable with currently. I exhale gently so as to prevent the steadying breath from appearing as such and summon his shirt and glasses. “In the meantime, put some clothes on, you'll catch your death walking around like that.” His eyes glitter at me knowingly but he puts his shirt on. Only he could make putting clothes on look sensual. 

“I just mean… thank you, for everything. I don't know how you do it.” 

“Someone has to do it. I’m glad to.” 

We eat on in silence for a time and then a realization hits me, hard. I jump up from the table and whip out my wand. “Oh, bloody hell, Tempus!” 6:53 glows blue before me. “Harry, I have to go!” I summon my robe and cast a quick charm to clean and straighten them. He stands, looking startled and crestfallen. “I--”

He shakes his head and rearranges his features. “I understand.” 

I nod and pull him into a quick kiss and a hug. “Thank you. I’m so sorry, I- I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m sorry.” 

He smiles and nods and I turn and jog up the stairs. Whatever might cause Narcissa to request a secret meeting with me can't be good, and it wouldn't do to be late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, family things. Thanks for all the comments, every last one means the world to me, keep em coming pllleeease and thank you! Much love.


	13. Better the Enemy You Know

Arriving at my office with moments to spare before Narcissa is due to arrive by floo isn’t exactly good for my nerves. Taking my office in hurriedly, I spot nothing out of the ordinary then swish my wand agitatedly, simultaneously ringing the house elf bell and casting a Detection Charm. The latter reveals nothing. When Dobby appears I curse him for his loyalty, I’d hate to be present if he ever came face to face with his former Masters. 

“Tea, Dobby. Quickly. Unless you’re interested in a visit with your old Mistress.” I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a house elf pale before now, but I haven’t long to admire the spectacle. He disappears with a pop. I barely make my way to my desk and check the knob before he reappears. The tea tray he bares settles with a clatter in the middle of my desk and he disappears without a word. I can’t say I blame him, I’ve very little to fear from this woman and I myself would like to be practically anywhere else. The brief encounter does serve to remind me there’s a conversation awaiting the two of us once Narcissa leaves.

I exhale slowly. Clear my mind. I know little to nothing in the way of Narcissa's skill set or interests. I know that she is a frigid woman, second best looking of her sisters, who has a taste for the finer things and isn’t particularly concerned with how she happens to come by what she wants. Aside from that, I know only that she is a devoted mother and patient wife. Lucius has, perhaps, given her much incentive to be patient but he has undoubtedly tested it beyond the extent any person should be willing to tolerate as well. Not that, at current times, she has any real considerable options. She’s been privy to far too much to be allowed to simply leave and has always seemed content in her near total reliance on Lucius. Her options are death or Obliviation… much the same as young Draco.

My musings are disturbed by the flash and roar of the fireplace as it changes. I stand, run a hand down the front of my robes and focus on the subject at hand. She steps out of the fire, casting a glance backward over her shoulder, all elegance and a flurry of hair. Her beauty is undeniable but I don’t believe I imagine some several degree drop in the temperature. There’s a permanent chill surrounding the woman, whether it’s her person or all the time spent in that marble tomb I can’t say. 

I step forward with ingrained chivalry and bow, “Narcissa.” 

 

Her eyes are wide, features strained. “Severus.” Her voice is tense and breathless. She eyes the tea with obvious annoyance. “Let’s dispense with the formalities. I haven’t much time.” 

I clasp my wrists behind my back, and eye her contemptuously. She’s given me no real indication of the cause of this meeting, aside from the need for discretion, her general demeanor conveys irritation and impatience as usual, but given what she’s pulled me away from ( _don’t think about it_ ) I’m not feeling very tolerant. Besides, to be sneaking about at this stage of the war… whatever it is that she wants, it can’t be simple. She could show a little courtesy, appreciation, respect. “Charming. As always. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She sniffs haughtily, rolls her shoulders and takes a steadying breath. She eyes me, assesses my person and settles something within herself. “I haven’t any other options. My dear _husband_ ,” she scoffs, “… Lucius has not been himself in some time. He’s desperate… detached. He’s lost sight… he doesn’t see what’s happening, can’t admit it to himself.” She steps away from the fireplace, tilts her chin upward, steadfast, dignified. “I am certain he will come to his senses. Until then… I must protect what matters most. I’ve come to you… because once again, I’ve no where else to go and you, Severus, you’re smart. Calculating. You see beyond the veil, you see what lies beneath. _You understand what the others can't_.” Suddenly, she’s practically on top of me. “He’s taken my sisters. Both are gone from me in one manner or another. He tore Andromeda’s family apart, like so many others. He’s doing the same to mine. Gone, is our social standing, the Malfoy name, the great majority of our wealth, my husbands morals and sense of self. I may as well say his sanity, for all that he’s taken of him. Now… now he comes for Draco. To do as he would have done to Andromeda, had she not gotten herself pregnant. Would that Draco were a girl… I’ll not let him suffer this fate and I’ve no one to help save him… except you.” 

 

I shake my head and turn my back on her. “I’ll not pretend to understand everything you’ve just said to me,” she has no way of knowing that I know the details, no one outside of her family should, “but it sounds to me as if you’re either playing a very dangerous game or suggesting something rather treacherous be done here.” 

 

“I believe we are both well aware whom it is that’s playing dangerous games, Severus.” 

“Excuse me?” I whirl on her commanding all of my intimidation and flair. 

She smirks knowingly. “Forgive me. What I mean to say, who, on either side of this war, acts without their own personal gains in mind? How many have died, watched their friends and families suffer for refusing to stand down? How many have put aside personal beliefs and desires, how many stand among us only because they believe they can foresee the outcome of this war and want to be on the winning side? How many more are simply… biding their time to lose as little as possible, just waiting to be sure?” She looks down her upturned nose at me and purses her lips. “A great many things have been made known to me in the time since the previous Headmaster of this school died. The first and most concerning, my husband cares very little about much other than the Dark Lord’s victory. Understandable, I suppose. He has invested a great deal. There is nothing he will not sacrifice to see that investment returned. Truly, nothing. Second, you…” she takes me in at length, “are a complicated and brilliant man, as far removed this ghastly business as someone so deeply involved in it may be. And that is why you are Draco’s only hope. You have to help him, hide him. If you turn us away… he will suffer for the sins of his father much beyond that which he already has. He will spend his life a shadow of that which he truly is because of the life I chose. If you turn us away… the second most merciful thing you can do is kill us both. But know this, Severus,” she turns to examine the fire as she speaks, “we don't truly live our lives in the world around us. Life starts within each of us.” She looks me up and down, something in her features suggests I don't measure up to whatever she was looking for, “How much are you truly willing to debase?” She removes a pouch of floo powder from her pocket, a premeasured amount she can simply empty into the flames. “Time is of the essence as you are well aware. I'll be back tomorrow, same time, for an answer.” She empties the bag into the flames and looks at me, eyes glowing maliciously. “Oh… and I know you’re helping Harry Potter, something to consider.” Her chin tilts victoriously, she steps backward into the flames and is gone before I can react. 

My heart skips several beats before it begins to hammer, my mind buzzes, my blood boils. She knows? She can’t know, she couldn’t know, how could she know? But why would she bluff about that? There’s no reason to, my position, unless proven false, would make that an incredibly far fetched accusation. Which would mean she actually does know. My cover has likely been blown. How is this possible? Fear sets in. She knows, what is she going to do… maybe she’s already done it. Harry’s alone. It hits home once more how stupid it is to leave him alone, and without a proper wand. Does she know _where_ he is? Could she only know I’m helping him, not where he is, is that possible? I check the connection. He’s in such a contrast to my own feelings, glowing and happy and comfortable. The most negative thing I can say about his current state is that he’s feeling a little self conscious. So he's safe then… for now. That knowledge alone is enough to still my heart and clear my mind some. I hold onto the connection though, keep him at the forefront. I'll need to know he's safe to think this through. And while I hadn't planned on it, I'll be going back to him tonight. In fact, Narcissa’s little revelation has me thinking I’d better spend as much time with him as possible, not that I needed much incentive to start, and certainly it would have been preferable to do so without being under threat… if that’s what her little parting gift was. The thought makes me angry… the audacity, to come in here and threaten me, threaten Harry… I consider chasing after her, either demanding answers or to deny her claim, but if she knows, she knows. The fact that I am still alive, the fact that she’s using her knowledge to manipulate me instead and I'm still standing here… she knows something else as well, something that makes having leverage over me worthwhile. Something that makes turning coats and keeping Harry alive worthwhile. Besides, chasing after her would be an immediate admission of guilt and I don’t know that this is beyond denial. I realize I’m pacing and move to sit behind my desk to partially alleviate my yearning to reach for the floo powder. My mind races, I turn over everything she’s just said to me, as well as return to what Remus told me about Andromeda. If Voldemort plans to use Draco in the same sense, it begs the question why he didn’t simply use Draco to fulfill his plans as an infant. The distraction the Potter’s posed no doubt saved Draco, the Dark Lord threw himself rather fully into finding and killing them before his own temporary demise, and I doubt even Lucius’ standing could have stalled Voldemort’s plans. So now he seeks a child again, and I don’t believe it to be coincidence that he feels so close to finding the Tridecus and so suddenly requires Draco’s use. But he is only one piece of that puzzle. If he has use for Draco then he must have a girl in mind as well. I wonder if Narcissa has any idea who that might be… and whether or not she’s a willing participant. Any hindrance to His plans is my duty. So I’ll help Draco and do what I can for this girl, if I can, however I can, but what can I really do? He can’t stay with Harry, they hate each other… and we’d lose our privacy besides. I roll my eyes in annoyance at my own immature and undeniable rejection of that concept. I’m pathetic… but there’s Remus' cottage… though our current relations are rather strained, I can’t imagine he'll be bending over backward to help me. But he will have to, I can’t possibly review the Dark Lord’s research, act on his behalf, attend to Harry and take care of Draco and some possible mystery girl at the same time as searching for Horcruxes. It won’t be easy for him… in fact, it will likely be incredibly difficult, which is no less than what Remus deserves for what he's done to Harry. He’ll just have to babysit Draco, like it or not. One more reason to be glad for the events of this afternoon, if Remus hadn’t acted as the asinine child he is, I’d likely be stuck with that brat instead of my preferred one… so really, fair bit of good fate that Remus is who he is. I almost feel like thanking him. Still, I will likely be in Draco’s smug presence far too frequently, Remus has nearly as many prior obligations as I do and Draco must be monitored. I don’t really consider him a threat but I don’t trust him either. Nor do I exactly trust Narcissa. In fact, the only justifications for going along with her at this point are that she claims to know about Harry and yet he’s safe, and her apparent loss of interest in the cause she once backed alongside her husband enthusiastically. Seriously uninspiring and it brings me back to the how and why of this. How does she know, if she really does? How much does she know? Is her source a danger to Harry or the Order? Is she alone in her knowledge? Do we have a double agent in our midst? If we do, the implications of that are… troubling. I’ll want proof of her claim before I acquiesce, even then I likely won’t openly admit I’m helping him. There’s no way I’d ever trust them with his safety. I only hope she doesn’t know his location and that she’ll keep what information she’s come by to herself. I don’t understand why, after all this time, after her own sons marking, why she would only now decide to turn her back on the Dark Lord. It is at the least, suspicious, if not entirely unbelievable. I am not at all comfortable with any of this. I am not accustomed to this amount of knowledge about my person and position, but more, the amount of danger this poses to Harry grates on me. I know that I will eventually lose him, but the way that it happens is important… and hopefully far off. I am not willing to relinquish him as of yet. I don’t believe I ever will be. I still plan to make every effort to die first, and my death is as of yet not guaranteed. So Harry’s must wait. Selfish, and possibly harmful to Harry, but with any luck I can do so without involving him or disturbing him. If I don't… how could I possibly allow his fate to come to pass? I couldn’t, the realization consumes me. Logic wars against it, I know he must, I know why, I know the importance of it and the lack of options. Harry must die at Voldemort’s hand and being charged with the task of seeking him out, Voldemort likely expects my active participation in the event. But I simply can’t. I am stunned once more by the prospect, the strength of my unexpected feelings and that after all this time, that in all my life, there would only be him. That, of all people, it would be _him_ , son of my enemy, so hard and so fast against all logic (the only time I open my heart in twenty years and it’s for someone destined to die?) against my very nature. Is this just some fanciful delusion I’ve allowed myself to be inebriated into, my own subconscious simply seducing my mind, knowing the lack of real risk in the relationship, the loneliness since Albus's death catching up with me? Have I tricked myself into allowing this? His beauty and youth and obvious interest, the prophecy and Dumbledore’s influence… do I truly feel this way or do I simply want to? I play over the events of the last few days, most specifically when I first saw him in the cottage, and that moment, kneeled before him, when our eyes met. I didn’t recognize it then, couldn’t admit it to myself… am still loathe to, but something clicked into place at the very core of my self in that moment. Something came to rest, simply and quietly, with none of the fanfare or pageantry one expects, it simply came to be. I felt it, I didn’t understand it never having felt it before, and it was so sudden, but now in retrospect… this is real. The prospect of the inevitable ending, of losing him, it isn’t reassuring, it’s agony. And after the several lifetimes of agony I have already suffered, this culmination is a most unnecessary proverbial straw, broken as I am. Harry is the only positive thing to enter my life in a great many years. This will certainly be an all consuming thing, and I will gladly give him everything I can, all that I am. I am not enough, he deserves better I realize… but considering circumstance, I am glad to do this one good thing, to give him this. I don’t deserve him but I will treasure him all the more for that knowledge. In fact, I’d like to return to him immediately to do just that. And consequences, discovery, what else be damned, I’m going to spend as much of our rapidly dissipating time together as I can. He’s mine now, and he’s perfect, beautiful. He’ll not suffer helplessly at someone else’s hand ever again… not until the end. I’ll be there to make sure of it. I summon a satchel and move to my room, to the compartment in the wall I’ve stashed Voldemort’s research in and begin packing it away. I’ll spend the time I would spend studying here with him. Moving back into my office to collect a few texts from my own shelves, something that should have been glaringly obvious from the moment Narcissa left occurs to me. 

I ring the bell with a flick of my wand, “Dobby!” I drop my satchel onto a side table. He’s in my office nearly instantly and crouches, looking about the room surreptitiously, I suspect for Narcissa, apparently afraid. “She’s gone.” He looks at me inquiringly and straightens. “Though whether or not you have anything to fear remains to be seen.” The elf’s globular eyes go wide and his ears flatten. “Tell me, Dobby, would you lie to me?” 

“N-no, Mr. Snape, s-sir!” 

“Hm. Forgive me, Dobby, but I’m not entirely certain I believe you.” 

“… Dobby doesn’t understand-”

My temper snaps. “Your prior Mistress has just been here, in my office, threatening me, threatening _our friend_ , whom she should know _nothing_ about, _days_ , mere DAYS after _you_ began inquiring me for his whereabouts, you are the only connection between myself and the events of this evening, and I'm not willing to ignore evidence in favor of coincidence!” 

The elf’s eyes practically pop from his head as I unleash a torrent of repressed anger on him, but to my surprise he becomes indignant rather than cowed, drawing himself up to his full three feet of height and squaring his shoulders before speaking. “Dobby would never betray his friends! Dobby is not speaking with the old Masters in years, Dobby is loyal only to his friends!” 

“And yet, almost immediately upon trusting you I find our lives threatened!”

“This is not Dobby's doing! Dobby does not know how Malfoys be knowing anything they do! Mister Dumbledore was wise, Mister Dumbledore was knowing Dobby used to be a Malfoy elf and invoked _Ardens Servitium_ , to make sure Dobby had to keep his promises, to help Hogwarts and the students and fulfill the duties Dumbledore set Dobby before his death. Dobby must do everything Dobby can to keep Ha- our friend safe, and be helping Mr. Snape, or Dobby will die. And Dobby is glad to be making this promise because Dobby could never be hoping to be doing anything else! It is Dobby's greatest pleasure to be helping friends.”

“Oh yes, you very much wanted to help me and Albus and _our_ friend, so what exactly did he have you do, hm? Was it a spell Dobby, or a potion? What did Albus have you do and why?” His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Was it in the food you gave us? Were the bloody dishes cursed? Did Albus put you up to this?! Or was it your old Masters?”

“What does… what is Mr. Snape asking?” 

“I’m asking what you did to us!” 

“Dobby doesn’t know what-”

I nearly take his left eye out I brandish my wand so quickly. “Shortly after eating the breakfast you made us something happened… we shared a brief moment of… intimacy. Unusual enough, but in addition there is now some form of connection between us, something occasionally painful but more usually a nuisance.” His wrinkled face stares up at me, serious, he listens intently, only traces of fear in his oversized eyes. I’m beginning to find I believe him when he says this was not his doing. “I can feel his emotions and he mine, so strongly that we can very nearly read one another’s thoughts. This was not something Albus devised, something you enacted?”

A knowing smile graces his face and then his too large globes are watering. “Oh, Mr. Snape sir! Oh, it is so wonderful, Dobby did not believe! -No, Mr. Snape this was not done by Dobby, Dobby did not know, Dobby would not ever have thought, Mr. Snape and Harry Potter!” 

“Shhh!” I clap a hand over his mouth. “Do not say his name!” I hold my hand in place and listen for any sound around us. Several moments of silence pass and I whip an angry glare back on him. 

“Sorry Mr. Snape sir, Dobby forgets himself in the excitement! This is most wonderful news indeed!” 

I roll my eyes, sparing a thought at bad habits and where I might be picking them up at, “What news exactly am I to take as joyous? Our apparent cursing?”

“Tis no curse Professor finds himself under! Surely you know! How shameful for Professor Snape to disrespect it so!”

Bloody, insolent creature, accusing _me_ of disrespect, “If I knew, I wouldn’t likely be asking you about it at wand point, now, would I?”

“Professor Snape knows, all wizards be knowing! Professor Snape has only despaired of the idea, most wizards be forgetting! Even if Professor Snape didn’t know Dobby mustn’t say, it is forbidden!”

Forbidden to speak of it? “I’ve read of something similar in a text on… _Love Craft_ ,” I’ve never had to say the words out loud, they leave a strange feel on my tongue as I choke them out, “about a phenomenon called Comptus. Is that what I’m to understand this to be?” 

Dobby closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens his eyes again they’re full of a tender light that makes me feel uneasy. “Many wizards call it different things. It is very uncommon now and goes forgotten or not believed in by most everyone. But when wizard magic was new, when it was more usual, even then ‘twas special and exciting and private! Mr. Snape knows!”

“Do not presume to tell me-” I cut off with a huff and pinch the bridge of my nose. The elf bears an infuriating and uncanny resemblance to Harry in his ability to irritate me. Still, I stop to think and take a breath before I flay him. He claims I know of something, something old, something that would cause Harry and myself an exchange of feelings, a physical need to be near one another at times of distress… something I’ve “given up on”… something unbelievable and taboo to speak of…

I meet his eyes to search for a prank as a chill falls over me. I find only joy and tears there.

“Mr. Snape is so fortunate!”

_No._

*****************

I clean the dishes from the meal Snape made in a pleasant haze. I think of nothing in particular, simply replaying the events from earlier at length and in no particular order. Snippets of what is definitely my most pleasant memory to date passing through my mind in a blur, kisses and flicks of a devilish tongue, nips from crooked but clever teeth, traveling across my body at leisure, inspiring more pleasure than I ever dreamed simple gestures from a mouth could. Snape might not be the general definition of attractive, but the man certainly seems to have experience in the bedroom. I don’t imagine the events of this evening to be any typical experience, there was something very nearly foreboding but incredibly erotic about the experience. Very Snape. And it was only a bloody hand job! Anything more would likely drive me round the twist… just that thought, that single promise of what could be, _more_ … a chill runs down my spine. And I want it. Less than a week ago I wasn’t even certain I was gay, months ago I thought the man was a murderer, now… the anticipation, the pull to him, I’m eager for something I can’t even put a direct name to, something I have no idea of how I might actually be able to carry out. I’m excited for the first time in so long it’s sad, really. And it’s not all about sex, it’s just him, that’s what he does to me. He can be a right foul git and he’s unreadable at most times, but he’s got more courage than all of Gryffindor house together and he’s the definition of intellect. Just… amazing. So witty and focused and brilliant… what’s he want with a sod like me? I come up short for an answer. I’m not usually inclined to be down on myself but… it’s true, isn’t it? He’s bloody brilliant and I have a hard remembering I can use magic for things while sitting in a castle full of talking paintings and moving staircases. I have to admit I can be a bit thick. I’d say it was just physical… not that I find myself particularly appealing (a bit too thin, a bit disproportionate) but I can feel it… everything he feels for me. I just don’t know why he would.

I realize I’ve washed every dish and I’m standing uselessly at the sink. It’s gone eight and I’m not expecting anything tonight, Snape likely won’t return until tomorrow and there isn’t much to do. I decide to go over Snape’s Dark Magic book a bit, lounging on the futon in my ancient pajamas. Spreading out on the couch I marvel at the book, especially Snape's notes and adjustments. It’s incredible to me, that on top of everything else he can craft and alter magic itself. I recognize that someone has to, otherwise there’d be no magic to be taught at all, but how inspired must someone be, how driven and motivated to do it to the extent he has. My heart flutters and suddenly everything hits me all over again. This is _Snape_ , and he’s done all of these incredible (and terrible, and brave, and horrific) things, and he wants _me_. I find I can’t quite focus on my reading for the nervous acrobatics my guts are preforming. We need to talk, we need to have an extended discussion about what’s happening here. It suddenly isn’t quite enough to know what he’s feeling, I want to know why, I want to hear his brilliant reasoning as I can’t make heads or tails of it. Though I’m thrilled to be the focus of his attentions I can’t understand what about me would hold his interest especially after all these years of animosity… I know they say there’s a thin line between love and hate but… there’s hardly been any reason or time for him to change his mind about things. I spent months thinking on him and his actions and motivations. It took almost no time at all for him to change his mind comparatively and I can’t imagine what might have done the trick. I take a deep breath to calm my developing anxiety. I suppose, no matter the reason, I ought to just count myself lucky that he does and try not to think too much on it. He’s given me loads of reassurance, so whatever fates favored me enough to give me Severus, I ought to just give them my thanks and try not to question it. Besides… I remember some old adage about not asking questions you don’t want the answers to… what if I don’t like what he has to say? No, I’ll just try to enjoy myself and hope for the best. And as exciting and new and fantastic as all of this is I really shouldn’t be so focused on it. I need to ask Snape if he knows anything about the symbol we’ve been coming across everywhere. And I need to get focused back on the other Horcruxes. Just because one option’s gone doesn’t mean I get to give up or even take a break. Surely, between the two of us, we can work this out. This weird connection, us being Comptus, maybe, hardly seems important in comparison. So far, it doesn’t really change anything, we can just feel each other. Maybe I ought to be more bothered by it, panicked like I was when I first read all of it. But I’m not. I sort of… like it. Something about it just feels right, makes me feel warm and whole. I’m not certain I believe we’re soulmates or predestined, but we do feel right. That this connection exists is unusual obviously but what is usual about us? Why wouldn’t something strange happen now we've come together? I feel as if I should have been expecting this very thing which I suppose is curious and should bother me, but again, it doesn’t. It seems as time goes by this only feels more and more right connection and all, though I suppose that might be a part of things, part of the curse. Perhaps it lures you into a into a false sense of security before your nasty demise... which sounds about like what my friends would expect to happen between Snape and myself anyway. But I feel more secure than I have since we lost Dumbledore. The part of me that’s attached to Snape thrums with light and while I can’t understand it, it warms my entire being. And even though I’ve been with Ron and Hermione and the entire Order has my back, laying here in this safe house actually alone for the first time in months, I realize how lonely I’ve been. His constant presence, my ability to sense him and access him might be dangerous or odd, but for now it's a huge comfort… even if he’s typically annoyed and his irritability taints my own emotions. His own have been more erratic than usual tonight. Varying from enraged to panicked to obstinance before relief and determination settled them, perfectly suiting what I would imagine a Snape reaction to any challenge to be. I grin and bask in the strength of the foreign comfort. He may as well be here, scowling absurdly and brooding. What used to be a source of discomfort has quickly become my greatest source of stability. Remus abandoned me over a crush, Ron an alliance, I can’t ask Hermione to give him up and while I know I could likely call on any of them with need to destroy Voldemort, I can’t suppress my laughter when I think my best chance at emotional support and friendship currently is one Severus Snape, dour Potions Master and bane of Hogwarts students for the past two decades. I suppose his reputation as such was permanently ruined for me this evening, I don’t imagine I’ll ever find a more fascinating subject for my affections. I suddenly can’t wait for his return… I need a distraction. And maybe a wank. 

My skin seems unable to relent the memory of his hands running across every last inch and my cock overly eager for a repeat of the performance. Momentary deliberation determines that I’m tired enough to sleep after and I rush for the bed, dropping both of my too large, threadbare bottoms on the way. Once I fall back on the plush mattress I can’t stop the broad grin that’s been threatening all evening from forming. No doubt Severus would find this juvenile, Ron would likely have a fit to know my thoughts, but personally I’m thrilled to simply have the urge once more. When I’d first noticed Cho it was all I could do to keep my hands off of myself, but after Voldemort’s return, all the stress kept me a fair bit distracted. I suppose that’s likely part of the reason it took so long for me to realize the lack of any real physical desire to be with her, I simply haven’t felt much either way for anyone. But now, with Severus’s presence freshly imprinted on all of my sense memories, this soon after my first sexual experience and with nothing better to distract myself, the urge is not only welcome but beyond my control. 

I’m already achingly hard by the time I’m comfortably settled, legs over the edge and squarely in the middle of the bed. My hand quickly traverses the distance from my side to my distressed flesh and with a mind of it’s own begins ghosting Severus’s movements. Where his hand had fairly burned me with the incomparable pleasure it inspired, mine is agonizingly inadequate in spite of all the new tricks he taught me. As it’s my prick that gets me off and typically aches when the urge does come over me, until today I never really knew what a world of pleasure might be uncovered by simple caress of my balls. I trail my fingers across them teasingly, roll them in my hand, palm them much the same as he did but it simply isn’t the same. I move on, out of patience with the lack of desired results, dragging my fingers up the shaft in much the same way, pressing my thumb over the sensitive places he introduced to me. The head and the underside. It’s good and it tingles, but it isn’t the same. I allow my memories of the event to flood my mind, the way his scent seemed to surround me, how his hands seemed to seep into my body, down into my core, his every measured movement seeming to form a new consciousness of every inch of my body in my mind. I’m pumping my hand, trying to remember how he gripped it, his speed and motions precisely, and still it’s not enough. I remember his lips trailing down my neck, his teeth against sensitive skin I hadn’t known existed, his breath raising goosebumps in it’s wake. My chest... how odd it had seemed at the start that what I’ve never paid any mind to would drive currents of electricity straight to my prick as if a neuron pathway existed directly between the two. I run my left hand slowly up my body, over my skin, the way he might. My own body feels foreign to me, the difference between the sensations he provided and what I’m failing to is that immense, but I’m too horny to quit. I fan my fingers out across my left nipple experimentally, pinching, then tugging, going to far as to give it a small twist to no avail. I’m sweating and writhing with need, right on the edge but unable to fully give over, memory of the event the only real cause, my own touch doing little for me now that I’ve had a small sample of that other world. Panting, I stop everything, knowing it’s a lost cause, throwing my appendages off to both sides. Exhaling my frustration with a muttered, “Bloody hell.”

“Indeed.”

I shudder violently at the depth of that much loved voice even as I jump in surprise. As if in a dream, suddenly the object of my focus is with me, leaning casually in the doorway, inexpressible hunger in his eyes. I’d be curious how much he’s seen but my current exposure makes it a rather moot point. My face flames and I open my mouth before closing it and clapping my hands over my eyes and falling back on the bed, all thought fleeing my mind in my embarrassment. 

I hear him moving closer as he speaks. “I don’t mean to intrude, though honestly Potter, if you’re going to be this shy you ought to begin closing doors. Otherwise, one might assume an invitation in your mindlessness.” 

My breath hitches and I move my hands away. His eyes roam over me, creating a warmth like fire wherever they land. Their depth unfathomable, the desire in them further inflaming my own and my erection bobs in recognition. He takes it in before meeting my eye. His cloak is already gone, he begins untucking and unbuttoning his shirt and his lips curve upward in a dangerous grin. “Would you… like a hand?” 

He’s teasing me, I know, but the words miss their mark. I feel no irritation nor call to retort. I’m so lost in my own need, thrilled by his presence and ecstatic at his offer that I can do nothing but nod and smile then move over to give him room. His eyes leave mine and his shirt comes off. He takes me in further, licking his lips as he does so, his breath quickening. I soak up his pale form eagerly, he’s lithe and sleek, all wiry muscles and sharp edges. The puffy, near translucent lines of old scars disappear beneath or are intersected by sparse smatterings of curly, dark hair. A contented sigh escapes me before I can stop it, as in everything else between us thus far, something about the simple gesture, the confirmation of his desire and person, fulfills something within me. As I take him in and the rightness of this washes over me, I have to wonder if it's just him or if it's the confirmation of what I am that settles my spirit and fills me with a calm incredibly contradictory to my racing pulse. I decide to think on it later, right now Sev's kicking off his shoes and climbing over me and up the bed with a predatory gleam in his eye that makes my toes curl and my mind spin.

“Mm, Harry. What a delightful welcome you supply.” He takes his time crawling up my body, nuzzling the hair at my lower abdomen and trailing his tongue up from belly button to breast bone. A shudder consumes my self control and my hands seek his shoulders to ground me. Without my grip on him I’m certain I’d dart straight off the bed. He chuckles and the sound pulls me further away from myself. He laps at my nipple and the groan that escapes me is so desperate sounding that I’m certain I’ll be mortified once the blood flow returns to my brain. Then his mouth is on mine, his cloth covered thigh weighs heavily against my now weeping cock and feels wonderful, my heart slams against his and another shudder overtakes me at the feel of his warm skin on mine. I want more. He sighs against my lips and I grind my hips into the rough fabric of his pants. 

“Pants.” I murmur against his lips, breaking the kiss only as long as it takes to do so. 

“Mm.” His fingers roam my body, occasionally finding a nipple and tweaking it before resuming their exploration. I’m not certain he heard me.

I break the kiss again. “Pants- off.” My body lurches in an upward curve as he bites my neck. What was I saying? He grinds something hard and hot and covered into my hip. Right, “Take your pants off.” 

“No.” he licks my neck and bites an ear lobe.

“Uh… what? No what?” 

“I’m not taking my pants off.”

His breath is hot against my ear and I hate to argue with him when he’s doing all these wonderful things to me but I’m not at all okay with what that velvety voice has just said. “Why?” 

I turn to look at him, to argue further but then his mouth is back on mine and his tongue fills the space. He shifts his weight to straddle me and his hands are absolutely everywhere, everywhere except for where I need them, everywhere except for _there_ , and I groan out my desperation. I’m agonizingly hard and buck my hips upward, but the sensitive skin meets rough fabric that feels like sandpaper against me. With a grunt I pull back, “Snape, take your goddamn pants off, now… please?”

He smirks down at me, an eyebrow quirked and slowly shakes his head, then reaches down between us, taking my rigid shaft in his hand. I’m taken by surprise completely and lose all ability to think again. “Se- oh!” my tongue feels too big for my mouth and my vocal chords are paralyzed besides. I exhale shudderingly as his deft hands make quick work of wringing every drop of pleasure out of every nerve I seemed unable to find. I buck up into his hand and three strokes is all it takes for me to fall apart. I lay flat and still, panting heavily and feel him shift to lay beside me. After what might have been an hour or a few minutes, I’m simply too adrift to know, he turns my head toward him with fingers on my chin and smiles when I open my eyes. I smile back, it feels lazy as it moves into place and I wonder if I look as ridiculous as I feel. 

“Ready?”

“For what?” Is he finally going to let me-

He picks up his wand, “To get cleaned up.” 

“Oh.” I nod as disappointment dampers my spirits slightly.

After a quick charm he stands and walks to the wardrobe. When he opens it a single black tee-shirt hangs within and he pulls it on hastily. I lean up on my elbows and watch him. His trousers have a rather prominent bulge dead center of his thighs and I wait for him to turn back to me to speak. 

“Any particular reason you won’t let me return the favor?”

He smiles as he smooth’s hands down the front of his body and he looks me over approvingly. I suddenly remember my nudity and fight the urge to cover myself by straightening my glasses even as my cheeks redden. “It simply isn’t the right time. Besides, I daresay what I’ve been exposed to this evening will be more than enough to assist in dealing with the situation myself and fare a great deal better than you were when I arrived.” A teasing gleam sparkles out of the depths of his dark eyes and he strides from the room gracefully, still in sock feet, as I scramble for my pajama bottoms. 

“I didn’t expect you back!”

I chase him into the sitting room and to my further surprise see him unpacking a bag apparently containing wizard space as he empties it of the better half of a library. “Had I been here to murder you, you’d have been dead thrice over. You must learn to be more aware of your surroundings.”

“Yeah, well… thanks for opting to… help me out instead of following your more natural instincts.” He scoffs and I smile. “Not that I’m not pleased you’re here but… what are you doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “… Until such a time that we can acquire a wand more suited to you, I’ve decided it might be best if I am with you as much as possible. Still, there is a great deal I am responsible for that cannot be pushed by the wayside and so I’ve brought much of it with me.”

“But… isn’t it dangerous for you to be gone, aren’t you still worried about being watched? Wasn’t that the whole point of sending me to… there?” It’s too soon, the pain is still too fresh, I can’t say his name. “Didn’t you say it was safe for me to be here alone? You knew I didn’t have a proper wand then.”

“I’ve decided it is within reason to be here more often than not until we can obtain a new wand for you. I would not risk it if I did not think it possible.”

“… What aren’t you telling me?”

He pauses only briefly in his movements shuffling papers, impossible to notice except for the careful attention I’ve begun paying to his every movement looking for little things such as that that give him away. “Why do you believe me to be holding anything back?”

“You go all… Professory and stiff when you’re uncomfortable or don’t want to say something.”

He scoffs, “You believe you can note a tell in my behavior where the Dark Lord cannot?”

“Well, I can’t imagine you’ve ever been particularly relaxed in his company. He wouldn’t know any different would he?”

“Because you and I are so frequently casual amidst one another.”

“Yeah… not until recently, obviously but… still, enough to know.” 

He turns suddenly and folds his arms across his chest. “If it disturbs you so that I should desire to be here more often than previously assumed then it is my mistake and I will correct it. I did not intend to make any brash assumptions of welcome where I was not wanted.”

“No! I want you here, that’s not what I meant! I only… I’m just surprised.”

“Yes, well,” he turns back to his unpacking, “it occurred to me that with several days yet to the end of break that I could spend time outside of Hogwarts under the guise of following leads on Order hideout whereabouts without raising suspicions.” 

“And after?”

“I intend to procure a wand for you as soon as possible. I’ll return as frequently as I can justify beyond such a time that I am sure you are properly able to defend yourself.”

“… You’re sure there’s nothing else you want to say?”

“Quite.”

There’s an awkward silence between us broken only by the sound of him organizing his things on a table he’s conjured behind the futon. The tension only builds between us the longer I wait and while I’m sorry for it I’m too irritated at having been manipulated so obviously too apologize. I don’t know what he could possibly be keeping from me but the deception bothers me more than usual. I trust him and his intentions now but… why start lying again, covering things up now that we’re this close, what could he even consider keeping from me at this point? Rankled but feeling on uneven footing for some reason I decide to drop it for now… besides, if it means more time with him then I should really just go with it... though that is no doubt the exact line of thinking he expected from me. No doubt he knew I’d drop any questions I had once I realized that. “Er- alright. I'll just… make some tea then, I suppose.”

He doesn't say anything and I move to pass by him feeling a pang of rejection for some reason. I look down at the floor and place a hand over my abdomen suddenly aware that I didn't put my shirt back on and feeling a wave self consciousness because of it. He's seen every inch of me and I've only seen his torso, and here I am, parading about topless once again. No way would he have touched me twice, expecting nothing in return, and now be trying to hide things from me if we were in this on the same terms. Sure, I know that he feels something immense toward me, but-

Shit. The connection. He's felt me feeling all of this. When I turn back toward him he's smiling at me tolerantly and it irritates me further. As if he thinks of me just the same as everyone else and this whole thing has been one big indulgence, too worried about what poor little Potter might do to tell him the truth. I thought he felt differently about me. How could he want to be with me otherwise? … Maybe he doesn't actually want to be. Maybe this is some weird thing he did out of some twisted sense of duty. Maybe this is something like what my dad did to Remus… 

_“… he asked how I couldn’t have known that all of it… that he’d just felt sorry for me…”_

Snape's face has been steadily falling as the quiet stretches between us. I realize the absolute lack of thought and maturity that I’ve faced this with. As if the fact that he’s deep and intelligent and has saved me countless times makes this relationship, if that’s what it is, any sort of feasible. As if this was ever a good idea, rushing into this. I don’t know this man, I know of him and I know of the amazing things he’s done, but that doesn’t mean that we’ll work. It’s just as I’d thought before, with what I do know about him, none of this makes sense. What could he actually want with me? 

_“…all of that conceited childishness...”_

Even Remus had come to see it in time… Snape has always known. 

_”How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter, he too was exceedingly arrogant…”_

Why would he just suddenly change his mind?

_“To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy…”_

How could I be so stupid?

_“… you are neither special nor important…”_

“Harry? Are you alright?” His voice and features are gentle and concerned and more open than I have ever known them to be but in my mind his face is snarled again. His words are cold and hateful and his eyes are just as frigid. A change of this magnitude could not possibly come on this quickly, but I feel only concern and love, perhaps a twang of guilt through the connection. Likely he knows my sudden slump is because of him. He can’t be lying… unless… 

_“The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and to utter falsehoods in his presence without detection."_

He said skilled Occlumens could shunt their true feelings and feel whatever they needed to. Can he Occlude against it, the connection? Against me? Has this all been… just a brave and determined man placating a temperamental teen for the benefit of the wizarding world? I’m appalled to feel my eyes burn and I blink in rapid succession, staring down at the floor. I hear Snape hurry towards me and jump slightly as I turn back to the forgotten kettle in the sink, filling it.

“Harry-”

“S’fine.” 

“No. Harry, I-”

“Don’t worry about it.” I place the kettle on a front burner and step back, continuing to face away. “It’ll be great to have you here. We can-”

“Potter!”

I startle and whirl on him, ready to tear him down for resorting to that, but he grabs me by the face and kisses me. What starts out gentle gains steam quickly and before I know it my hips are being treated rather roughly by the counter as the telling bulge in his trousers rubs against mine aggressively. He nips my bottom lip and pulls my body close against his own. My heart hammers and my mind begins to cloud over, pushing away all the rejection I’d felt moments ago as coherent thought starts to leave me.

That’s likely the point of this, isn’t it? He knows I’ll drop it if he just distracts me. He’s trying desperately to keep something from me, but I won’t let it go so easily. And if he won’t tell me… well, we won’t be doing any more of this. I fist my hands in his shirt before shoving him back hard. 

“Stop it.” He looks genuinely hurt and my heart freezes for an instant. “I’m sorry, I… I just know that you only kissed me to distract me.” 

“I kissed you because I could feel your self doubt. I thought… why do you feel that way?” 

“Because… you won’t let me touch you. And you’re lying to me. I know you’re hiding something so don’t deny it. You’re keeping something from me and you’re acting as if I couldn’t possibly know it. Like I’m that stupid. You’re keeping things from me just like everyone else, and I thought you were different… or thought you thought of me different. I thought… that we could trust each other.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, his face a mask but his eyes glowing. “Why are you so certain I’m hiding something from you?”

“Because of how you’re acting! You’re all… reserved and formal and… you don’t just change your mind like this. You think everything through and you do what you mean to the first time. You wouldn’t just stay with me after saying you couldn’t and you wouldn’t have just brought me back here after saying I couldn’t stay here. And you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t have given into me wanting… you wouldn’t just do things to me… and not let me do anything… and keep putting it off, for nothing. You know as well as I that this is our life from now on so… what’s this momentous occasion you’re waiting on? That can’t be it, there’s something else and you’re not telling me. You’re not telling me all kinds of things, either because you don’t trust me, or you don't think I can handle it or… there’s something else that hurts too much to even think and I won’t say it!” You don’t care about me and I’m a means to an end that you can’t risk hurting too soon. 

His eyes and the connection are a war of emotions and he scowls deeply at me before something finally wins out. Understanding. “You are right, of course, Harry. Forgive me. I have been keeping something from you but not for any of the reasons you’ve concocted. I’m more than certain of your ability to cope with most any scenario presented to you and I trust you. I haven’t told you because I had hoped to tell you in the morning, I wanted the evening to ourselves and I didn't want you to spend the night worrying senselessly. If you insist to know this very moment then I will tell you but I should like to try once more to persuade you to wait until morning-” 

I shake my head. “Tell me.”

He takes a steadying breath and turns back to organizing his things. “Very well. When I left you earlier this evening I was running late for a highly unusual and, by request, secret meeting with Narcissa Malfoy.” I can’t help that my eyebrows raise and I take a step toward him as I listen intently. He glances back at me to judge my reaction and seems satisfied because he continues. “She had come to… I suppose _ask_ a favor of me. I believe she has lost faith in the Dark Lord’s cause as well as her husbands dedication to their family, she didn’t say it in those words precisely but very nearly did so. Narcissa herself cares about nothing more than Draco and fears for him a great deal… personally, I am of no mind to care in particular what becomes of him. As a member of my house and having seen him grow into a replica of his father, though perhaps lacking his father’s motivation, I am actually inclined to dislike him somewhat and I believe Narcissa has also come to see that. But I am also, annoyingly, inclined toward a protectiveness for him as one tends to be when charged with the care of a juvenile for any extended period of time. I have invested too much time and energy and effort into his well being to feel entirely detached and so Narcissa sensed an opening through which to weasel herself and proceed to force my hand… she has asked me to hide Draco,” the floor drops out from beneath me, “as the Dark Lord has plans for him that she feels would permanently damage Draco or greatly deteriorate his quality of life, such as it may be beyond this war. In this particular instance, with no real motivation, and the considerable risk such a betrayal of the Dark Lord may entail, I very much planned to turn her away… until, as she left my office via floo she told me that she knew I was helping you.” 

My blood rapidly drains to my feet, which go numb, and I stumble back a step to grip the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing. “No.”

He strides over to me quickly, bracing me and pinning me with a serious stare. “I’ve no intention of letting anything happen to you, Harry. That’s why I’m here, that’s why I’ll be here, as long as I need to be. Until I can trust Draco, until the end of the war, whichever comes first. I’m going to keep you safe.” 

I hadn’t even thought whether or not I was in danger. “What about you?! If she knows… then it’s over! She’ll tell, she must have done, they’ll kill you!” 

“That’s why I told you what I did. She made it quite clear that she has doubt’s about both the Dark Lord and her husband. She only wants to keep Draco, her only remaining family, her only son, the only one of them with any real chance at a future, safe. It is… incredibly… unfortunate, to be the tool of her choosing, but I think perhaps therein lies our reassurance as well. To be used as such proves her desperation wherein that our own situation is so precarious. Should my own loyalties be exposed, any association between us would be an automatic death sentence for her entire family, she would never risk that. Also, if she had any other choice she would take it, and given her rather extensive connections I believe her choice speaks of a lack of trust and confidence among the Dark Lord’s own inner circle. If discord and desperation is so rampant among the higher ups then they don't stand a chance and can barely be considered a united front.” 

“That really doesn't make me feel much better. What if this is a trap? She wouldn't be blackmailing you if she had a problem with turning you in.” 

“She can hardly blackmail me when the very concept means she intended to keep information about you from the Dark Lord. She'd be immediately guilty and condemned to the same fate.”

“Of course, but she'll have thought of that as well. And it could still be a trap! The minute you agree to help you’re either admitting to helping me or agreeing to betray You-Know-Who. Either way you’re done for!” 

“This may come as a surprise to you, Potter, but I’m not completely dense. I will of course demand evidence of her accusation, as well as act accordingly until it is presented. If possible I will deny it, if that is within my ability then I will refuse to assist her.”

“Draco-”

“Narcissa will protect him. She will do so at any cost. Do not worry yourself over him.”

A spark of hope, “… Do you think that’s likely? Will you be able to tell her no, deny what she said?”

“… I think it is possible that this is a trap… or a test. However… to accuse me of assisting you is… completely absurd if my position is not truly compromised. If this is in fact a test then… it is less of a test and… more of a game. If it is neither of those then… she will have to provide me with evidence, which she almost undoubtedly has, otherwise she would never try to use this as leverage. If she has proof… then I must do as she asks and harbor Draco.” 

I nod and stare blankly at his chest as I take it all in. “So you're… you're hiding Draco. Here?” We’re to be barred from each other so soon? I'm to be trapped here with Draco?

I meet his eyes and they glint, seeming to read my true concern and find it amusing. “No. No one else will ever see this place and Draco will never see you. I will never confess to knowing where you are.” 

“I don't like this. I don't trust them.” 

“Nor do I. But they will never get to you through me and if she has proof, the likelihood that this is anything less than what it appears to be is slim. I don't trust them but circumstance permits this scenario a certain feasibility.” 

I’m shaking my head, both in denial and derisiveness. Does he honestly think I’m worried about myself? “I can't believe it. Why would she hide him after he's already taken the mark? Why wouldn't she have done it before now? Before Dumbledore? It doesn’t make sense.”

A brief pause, he seems to search my eyes. “… She asked me how far I was willing to fall from my own morality. I believe she has since lost too much of her own, seen Draco suffer the same, for a cause they do not believe in. Perhaps she has only recently lost her faith in it, or perhaps He asks too much, but I believe she may genuinely seek Draco's safety.”

“What about him? You think he's going to be fine with hiding behind his mum? He's too bloody proud, he’d never do it without an ulterior motive. He might go along with it to try and catch us, might even be lying to his own mum.” 

“He's terrified, Potter. He's not used to being afraid. The Dark Lord has been living in his house, he's been surrounded by Death Eaters, his family is no longer in good standing within any society. He’s insecure and lonely and ashamed. He’s likely desperate for any out he can get. He took the mark for his father, not because he greatly desires Death Eater principles. He is a child-” 

“We’re the same age.”

“He hasn’t seen or experienced or done even an ounce of the things you have. Until last year he was relatively sheltered. He is a child, and he is frightened and Slytherin to the core. He is quite proud but he is also smart enough to know the danger he is in and pride will not win out over self preservation.” 

I want to trust him, to prove my maturity and make him proud by taking this in stride as he seems to be but I just can’t. Talking has kept what feels to be sheer panic in my chest at bay and I can feel it trying to claw it’s way to the surface. “When… when are you going to know? You’re going to ask for proof?” 

He steps forward and begins rubbing my arms comfortingly. “Tomorrow.” 

“I don’t like this. If it isn’t true, if this was a test-”

“I'll never give you up. You have nothing to fear.”

“I could lose you! They’d bloody kill you, you thick git!” 

As soon as the words leave my mouth I’m terrified, but he smiles and a deep chuckle resonates in his chest. “Why, after all this time, such concern for your greasy, thick, git of a Professor. I’m shocked.” 

Despite the seriousness of the conversation I smile. The kettle whistles beside us and he moves to lift it from the burner. I run over everything we’ve talked about and all his reassurances, but some things still don’t line out. He says he won’t let anyone know about this place, as if he doesn't believe anyone does, but what's he doing here then? Does he think it may have been found out? I guess it’s best for him to be here just in case… I’m slightly disappointed that he isn’t actually here because he wants to be which is ridiculous and I mentally shake myself. What could be so bad that Draco would want to go into hiding? What’s worse than having to kill Dumbledore? Why not go into hiding then? 

Where’s he going to keep him if not here? “Where will you keep him?” 

He’s quiet and after a few moments pass I think about asking again. “There are… so few safe places these days. The only place I can think to take him is… Lupin’s cottage.”

My mind goes blank. He plans to involve Remus, who has a pregnant wife, who has only just this day accused me of a lack of concern with his well being, who now hates me for it. “No. Absolutely not.”

“There isn’t any other choice.” 

I shake my head, “Not until we know we can trust him. If your proof doesn’t involve knowing where I am, I’ll go back to Remus's-”

His eyes narrow and his hand grabs roughly at my hip. “You’re not going back to him.” 

I swallow hard and meet his eyes. “I’m not risking Tonks husband, an unborn child’s father over Draco Malfoy, either.” 

He seems to deliberate something before sighing heavily. “Lupin can handle Draco. You’ve nothing to fear. I am considering removing Draco’s wand for the duration of his stay. There is no other way. Draco will never see this place and _you_ are _not_ going back _there_.” He says the last in a possessive growl, his eyes glint at me and a small chill rolls across my skin. He turns back to the tea and I consider my last question, temporarily resigned to our apparent fate of cooperating with Malfoys. 

“So, why can’t I touch you?” 

He glances a smirk full of warmth over his shoulder toward me and I smile back. “Not only concerned but evidently desperate for the old Potions Master. Surprising, indeed.” 

“Oi, desperate?!”

He chuckles again and the sound warms me but I still don’t have an answer, so I wait. 

“… I want you to be sure-”

“I am sure.” 

“Shut it.”

I smirk and he glares as he hands me a mug of tea, cradling his own. I don’t even want mine, I’d only started it for something to do. 

“I want you to be sure you want to. I want you to know that this is what you want, that it’s not a matter of convenience. That you’re not simply hurrying to do this out of fear or threat of the Dark Lord hanging overhead. I want you to know that you want this for the right reasons.” 

“But I do! And I could say the same to you, you realize…” I swallow before I continue, “or… is that it? Is that why you- did you not want this? Have you only done this because-”

“Harry.” He moves over to me slowly, placing his tea on the counter beside us. “Of course not.” He plucks my cup from my hand and sets it on the counter as well. His hands are warm as they cup my face and he plants a gentle kiss on my lips, stroking my cheekbones with his thumbs as he speaks. “I want you, you haven’t touched me _because_ I want you, little sense as that may make right now. After you’ve… if we take that step, if you change your mind, I couldn’t bare it.” The connection throbs with unbearable pain, a deep and heart wrenching ache. What he imagines he would feel if he lost me. It makes me never want to feel again. “Even without… if you changed your mind this very minute it would be excruciating. But with the memory of you… Harry, I’m sorry. I simply can not take this lightly. It is very meaningful to me. What we have done thus far, what you have already given me is a gift beyond measure but anymore and… it would be difficult for me to recover. I can not risk falling apart right now.” His cheeks are red throughout but at the last turn positively violent and I wonder at the strength it must have taken for him to express all of that. 

I nod emphatically. “We can wait. Not because I’m not sure, I want this, you but… I want you to be comfortable. I want you to know I do just as much.”

I pause and consider saying something else but decide instead that I want to kiss him. Everything that he’s just said screams of loving me, being in love with me. If he takes this so seriously, if he feels these things so deeply then there’s no way he couldn’t. The connection brims with it, our combined emotions enough to make me feel a tad faint. He kisses me back eagerly and all I can think of is my desperate urge to return any small amount of the pleasure he’s made me feel. It manifests itself as words on my lips and translates into the kiss. I love him, too. I want to tell him, want him to feel it, want him to never worry that I don’t. So I tell him with the kiss, he’d never believe my words anyway. I press my body as close to his as I can, I nip his bottom lip and run my hands through his hair, I hold him close and drive my tongue through his welcoming mouth leisurely. I want to beg him again, to press the issue but I won’t. I have to respect his boundaries, show him that I can, otherwise he’ll never trust me. He groans and wraps his arms around my waist and I nip his lip again.

“Gods, Harry. The things you do to me.” It's his turn to devour me and all I can do is hold on. 

He runs his hands down my back and over my rear, hoisting me gently and I surprise myself by springing up and wrapping my legs around his waist. He smiles against my lips and chuckles as I blush and squeeze closer still. “Good luck getting me to let go now. Perhaps I’ll just trap you down here with me forever.” 

He gazes up at me disbelievingly, slowly shaking his head, a hesitant smile playing on his lips, “Perhaps I’ll let you.” 

I smile back at him and press my forehead to his. “Don’t go back. Please don’t do this.”

“… If it is avoidable…” he sets me on the counter, “then I won’t. I haven’t survived this long by taking unnecessary risks… I know you and Draco dislike each other,” I scoff at the understatement, “but do really wish him ill? Narcissa would not take this risk if she did not believe the risk was less than the dangers of their situation. We can help him.”

“… Unless it’s a trap. Unless you go back and they kill you straight off.” 

“That won’t happen.”

“How do you know?” 

“If she’d told anyone I would be dead already.”

“Unless it’s a trap. Unless they’re using you and Draco to get to me.” 

“I will never tell them where you are. I would die first. Remus will not betray the Order, he hasn’t a chance of using this to any underhanded advantage.” 

“So they’ll kill you then.” 

“They must know that I would be suspicious of such a ploy. Narcissa and I have never been particularly close, Draco and I no more close than any other students under my care, our primary bond a mutual dislike of _you_ ,” he accents the statement by squeezing my thighs and I give a mock sneer, “all things considered, I am inclined to believe she's telling the truth.”

“So then… Draco's in real trouble. And she's somehow found out about me... which means you could be too.”

“So long as she does not know of your whereabouts I am not so concerned with her knowledge of my person.” 

“Well it matters to me. The more people like her who know what you’re doing the more dangerous it is for you to do it. I wish you didn’t have to go back. I’m worried for you and I don't trust them. Last time Narcissa needed your help with Draco she asked you to kill for him.” 

Severus cringes slightly before scowling at me.“… This is different and I suspect you know that. I had no choice. Though, if you are worried I might have to dirty my hands a bit don’t waste your energy.” The last comes out bitingly and the wrongness of what I’ve said hits me full on. I’ve likely hurt him a great deal. My stomach clenches.

“I only-”

“Only what? What could you possibly say that’s going to change anything? You’re worried I might have to kill someone? The minute I apparate back to my office it very well may be kill or be killed. What say you then? Or perhaps you’ve merely forgotten what I very much am.” He wrenches up his sleeve, his Mark a stark contrast between his crisp, white sleeve and pale, smooth skin. “I took this of my own volition, committed unspeakable atrocities and witnessed horrors as passively as if I were watching my House practice on the Pitch. I don’t suppose you’ve somehow taken it into your head that I’m as good a person as any other? As pure as your dear _friends_ ,” he spits the word out like a bad taste, “no, Potter. I’ve killed for much less valiant reasons than those you’ve come to understand and I’ve no doubt I will again. So what, then? Would you now like to reconsider your words, your choices? Care to return to the Burrow after all?” 

I shake my head while I try to catch my breath. I can’t say what he’s said surprises me, it’s more the emotion behind it. I understand I’ve hurt his feelings but this is as if I’ve attacked his very person… “I know what you are. Who you were. I might not know everything but I’ve seen enough that I can imagine… and I might not like it but I understand. I only meant what if they want you to do it again, make another Vow?”

He glares after me, shoulders squared indignantly, arms crossed and fists clenched. “Let me worry about them, leave off it.”

I consider arguing further but decide against it. “Look… I realize how bad that sounded. I’m… I’m just sorry.” 

He scowls at me and his righteous indignation pours through the connection. I only hope he takes my regret as seriously as he took my mistake. 

“… I did not kill Albus for Draco… or Narcissa, or the Dark Lord.” 

His voice would sound venomous to others, but the heat feels forced to me. Covering something broken and hurting. “I know. It was a stupid thing to say… I’m so sorry…” 

His face become impassive again and he nods, then moves around me to pick up his tea before moving back across the room to sit on the futon. I follow, leaving mine behind me on the counter and sitting the distance of the futon away from him. He stares into the fire and for several long moments its crackle is the only sound. 

“You realize this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you.” 

I take a deep breath before responding, trying to calm myself first. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… don’t understand why you aren’t more worried. It's like you said, they could be waiting for you the moment you go back. This… conversation… you might have just told me the weather, but we’re talking about something that could be life and death. It’s just a bit off putting… I've only just got you and now you're agreeing to just go along with something that could take you away from me. And you originally tried to hide it from me. I hate that.” 

“Got me, have you?” 

I scoff and blush. “Give it a rest, would ya? You can say I don't know what I want, but I do. And you seem to want the same. So yeah, I’ve got you. We’ve got each other.” 

“… This isn’t so far from the everyday for me. I never know what I’m walking into. Things can change in the blink of an eye. One moment I’m in his graces and the next, I’m under the cruciatus with dead bodies around me. It can happen at any time, any day. This is simply the newest in a series of endless threats.”

“… Was that supposed to comfort me.”

“It is only the truth. My life is in constant danger, I am constantly placing myself in danger. It is something you should perhaps consider before you once again demand your ‘desires’ be met. Do you truly wish to worry over me this way constantly?"

“I’d worry about you anyway. Do you really think I’d only worry about you if you agree to shag me?” 

He snorts. “I was speaking more of agreeing to a… mutual and monogamous, extended commitment.”

“… Bloody hell. Do you… you mean a… a relationship?” I gasp out around laughter that has him scowling at me again.

“Forgive me, I didn’t realize you found the idea so laughable.” 

“It isn’t the idea that’s laughable, it’s the way you said it. Do you have to be so formal all the time?”

“It may be a physical strain for you to practice any verbosity beyond an elementary understanding of our language but some of us pride ourselves in grammatically expounding so as not over simplify. We currently have a relationship. One should hope you would not wish it to continue in this course, I asked you to consider more arduous matters before we move beyond the current depth.” 

“Yes, Professor.” 

I couldn’t scrape the grin off my face if I tried, even as he glares daggers at me. There’s no heat behind it though, and soon his lip is quirked as well. He hooks an arm over the back of the couch and waves me over. “Come here.” 

I imagine the look on my face is pretty comical, my cheeks flush and my eyebrows make a run for my fringe but I do as he says and scoot to his side hesitantly. He isn’t shy in the slightest though, and wraps an arm around me, pulling me flush against his side. I awkwardly place a hand on his leg, half expecting him to bat it away or otherwise scold me, but he doesn’t. His hand moves across the tips of my hair slowly before coming to rest on my shoulder. My blush rages, for some reason this innocent moment intensely more upheaving than our romp in the bedroom, and I glance up at him. He’s smiling, though he looks tired and somehow defeated. “Comfortable?” 

I nod and to my immense surprise he half melts into the cushion. He leans his head back on the top of the couch and as his arm sags, the weight of it pulls me closer. With little option otherwise I lean my head against his chest and settle there, for a while only listening to him breathing, the sound of his heart beat. After a time he begins to card his fingers through my hair and my eyes begin to feel heavy. 

“Is that really what you want? A mutual… whatever you said? A deeper relationship?”

“Yes.”

“… With me?”

“Of course. Who else might I have been talking to earlier?” 

“I’m just… sort of surprised you do, still. I don’t much get it.” 

“You don’t have to. But you trust me, right?”

“Yeah.” And I do, against all odds.

“Can you then trust that I want this, with you?”

I smile, unable to believe this moment, the massive change in me, in my life, how quickly these unforeseeable things came to pass. “Yeah. Can you?”

He sighs. “You are… so young.” 

“Not that young.”

“No. But young enough.” 

“What’s that got to do with anything? What am I to do if I can’t trust that what I want is what I want. Would you have me do nothing about anything until I’m thirty? What a person wants can change at any age, but I want to be with you and seeing as you’re the only person I ever really have wanted I can’t imagine it will change.”

“Your lack of options hardly determines that you truly want the best currently available.”

“I wanted you before you were available. I wanted you before I knew I even had options. I wanted you before I knew what I really wanted.” 

“For all of, what? Four days then?”

“You’re infuriating.”

“Ah, see? How quickly a young heart changes.” 

With a dramatic sigh I maneuver myself to lay my head in his lap, somewhat amazed at my own daring and mostly because my neck hurts, but also unwilling to lose this closeness. 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I had no idea how irritating you were. I guess it’s on to one of my lesser options, then.”

“I expected no less.”

I nuzzle myself between his abdomen and thigh, once I’m settled his other hand moves into my hair. I close my eyes. “Yeah, real shame. Never even got to see if your proportions match.” 

“Is that all you think about?” 

“Not usually. You just have that effect on me.” His hand stills momentarily. “Guess my other options will reap the rewards of what you’ve started.” The hand pulls my hair slightly.

“Have someone in mind then?”

“Yeah. The you that isn’t a great bloody git. Severus and not Professor Snape.”

He chuckles and his nails drag across my scalp. I break out in goosebumps and my breath tries to get away from me. “Just practice a little patience for once in your life.” 

“I’m not saying I only want to because of what’s happening but… I just feel like… there is that extra pressure to make things happen, even just having tea, like everything might be the last time and you’ve got to make the most of all of it, of every second. I just… imagine how it’d be if I never got to touch you and something happened. Wouldn’t that matter to you?” 

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you suppose this moment between us is any less meaningful than what transpired in the bedroom?” 

My heart trips and I smile. “No I don’t suppose so.”

“I believe, if anything were to happen to me tomorrow, and I doubt that it will, that my final thoughts would likely be of this moment, and perhaps even much smaller moments than this, than the more obvious instances of passion.” 

I raise my eyes to his. He’s looking at me with such intense affection that I spare a thought at whether he might regret me having seen, but then my hearts bursting with my own feelings and the pull to tell him once more. 

_“…. never be able to keep this up, it likely won’t make a difference anyway I-”_

A sharp pain burst through my head and I bolt upright, gripping my head and crying out in surprise. It’s gone as quickly as it came but I continue to hold my head, partially out of fear of moving.

“Harry?” 

“How’d you do that?”

“Do… what?”

“Did you use Legillimency or something, what was that?” 

“… Harry, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

I look back over my shoulder at him, he’s studying me, hand frozen midway to me, reaching out in concern. If he did it, he didn’t intend to. 

“I heard your voice in my head just then. Saying something about… you can’t keep up, couldn’t make a difference. I dunno it was so fast.” His face pales and his eyes drop. He seems lost in thought for a moment.

“Can you still hear me?”

I shake my head. “W-wait. Look at me, we were looking at each other.” 

When our eyes meet I pay close attention to his features and he mine. I focus inward and try desperately to hear him but after several seconds pass I shake my head. He nods.

“So… you didn’t do that?”

He glances at me before standing. “No. I didn’t do anything.”

“… Was… was it the connection?”

A stony silence fills the space between us, he’s in the kitchen, staring into the sink and stalk still. Enough time passes that I can’t stand it.

“It was, wasn't it. It’s changing, isn’t it? Growing.”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” He says it so quietly that I nearly have to strain to hear him, even in this suffocating silence. 

He doesn’t speak again and he doesn’t move. I hold my breath hoping for anything but I can sense dread through the connection and it frightens me as much as it worries me. I’m still so long I’m almost afraid to move before I finally try something.

“Sev-”

“Go to bed, Harry.”

Something about this is strange, I can’t quite follow why he’s so upset about this. I don’t much want him poking around in my head either but why be this upset about something beyond our control? He’d said as much in his letter. Maybe he’s still worried I’ll give something away to Voldemort… or he could be worried about what I’ll think of him if I gain access to his mind, his memories. He has to know I wouldn’t intentionally poke around… I wish he’d just talk to me. But I know he won’t. And whatever mood had been set is ruined, so I take his advice and mope away, taking my time as I go, eyes trained on him. He never moves. 

“Good night…” I get no response. 

With a heavy sigh I turn out the lights with my wand and flop into bed. I’m more tired than I’d thought and shortly after my head hits the pillow I feel myself drift to sleep. 

 

~*~

My first waking thought is an urge to be outside. It’s been several days and I want nothing more than to go for ride on my broom. My next thought is that I’m not alone and I barely resist throwing myself from the bed. Looking to my left I’m shocked and delighted to barely be able to make out Severus’s form in the dim light filtering in through the doorway. His hand is laying on my hip, I couldn’t feel it through the blanket but the thought warms me. I’m nearly giddy with the idea that he slept in my bed without me pushing him to do so, without me even agreeing that he should. He simply did so out of his own desire to. I’m frozen with joy. 

But wait… won’t he be missed? Should he have done this? 

“Snape.” My voice cracks and he doesn’t budge. “Sev?”

His eyebrow twitches and I smile. The urge to kiss him overcomes me and I give in. If he can sleep with me then I can kiss him if I like. Just a peck on the lips, more a brushing of mouths than a kiss. “Sev.” I breathe the word against his mouth and when I glance back up his eyes are open. 

He smiles and his right arm quickly finds its way to the back of my head. He pulls me back against his lips and rolls us over. His mouth turns mine inside out, my brain turns to mush, my body putty, his body is up against mine but I can’t properly feel him through the blanket. I groan in frustration and he bites my lip. I begin to wriggle out from beneath it and he pins me down. I huff and writhe and he pulls his mouth from mine.

“I’ll never leave if I get you out from under those covers.” He leans down and bites my earlobe. 

I gasp. “I’ll work a little harder then.”

He sucks my neck, I’m certain it’s left a mark and I moan enthusiastically. His hands pin my arms and I buck my hips in equal part to throw him off and gain some attention to my now fully awake southern parts. He growls against my collar bone and the sound drives my lust up another notch.

“Sev, please.” 

“Please what, Harry?”

“Anything. Give me anything.” 

He drags his tongue up to my jaw. “A foot rub, then?”

I huff and struggle against his grip. “Let me touch you.”

“No.”

“Please, let me do something, anything. Please.” 

“No, Harry.” 

My brain regains some substance. “Today. I could lose you today. I might not ever see you again, never touch you again. Please Severus, I’ll never ask again. But I need this right now, I need you.” 

He’s stopped his ministrations and looks down at me with special consideration. He shakes his head, “You’re a mystery.” 

I bite my lip, afraid to say the wrong thing, certain he’s thinking of allowing it. Then his eyes soften and he kisses me again, before pulling back and leaving the bed entirely. 

“To give in would be to admit the possibility of defeat, Harry. This will not be the last time we see each other, I will return this evening, and I will reward your patience then as well.” He pulls on his shoes and glances about before exiting the room. I stare up at the ceiling, tears of frustration threatening, and wonder if this isn’t some part of his control thing.

If so, it’s annoying.

I kick the covers off with more aggression than strictly necessary and go to the loo, determined to spend as much time there and away from Snape as possible. This whole thing is worse than unfair, it’s unnerving. Is this what he meant when he said he was worried he’d ‘damage' me? This confusion and worry and hurt… can he feel this? Does he know he’s doing this to me? 

“Harry?” 

I’m leaning against the sink, his voice on the other side of the door all the penance I need from him. Whatever he’s doing, he doesn’t want to hurt me. I can feel his regret and concern and it’s enough for now. When I open the door, it’s a moment before he’ll meet my eyes and when he does I throw myself at him. 

“You can’t take it back. You said tonight and you’d better hold to it.”

He plants a branding kiss against my lips and runs his hands around my back, exciting the exposed flesh but pulling away before the kiss can deepen. “Tonight.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go.” 

His lip quirks and his eyes darken very slightly. “… That means a great deal to me. You’ve no idea. But I have to.”

I nod and try to close off all the hurt I’m feeling but I can’t. I find I can’t meet his eye anymore either and stare at his lips instead. They’re set in a line of grim determination and I realize there isn’t a chance at what I want from him. 

I let him go and take a step back. He pulls on his robes quickly and tidies them equally efficiently. “Tonight.” 

He says it again and my heart hurts. It’s the connection, his feelings, it’s a pang of regret, guilt. Is it because he has to leave or because he knows his words are a lie? I meet his eyes and nod. He takes me in at length, scoping my entire body from head to toe. It sort of ruins the effect of his confidence that he’ll return but I can’t much say that. I smile halfheartedly and he leaves with a quick, “Be safe.” At the top of the stairs.

A rush of pain hits me when the door closes and I accept it wholly. In an odd way it’s welcome, to know he hurts for having to do this, that it hurts him to hurt me. Our combined pain is like a song to me and I trudge to the bed to dwell in it properly. After several moments of basking in the ache I give myself release of the demand front and focus on my mind for the better part of 24 hours. 

“I love you,” I whisper to no one, and no one answers.

************** 

My office is untouched, as per usual. I recall Dobby saying something about keeping people out of it and consider owing him some gratitude but it’s impossible to drudge up any emotion beyond the absolute ache I feel at having left Harry in the state he’s in. Were our positions reversed I would have decked him. The confusion and dejection and burning need and bitter injustice and excruciating love… 

He loves me. 

It makes no sense. I’m almost worried for his mental state but it’s the truth… and it’s real. No trick or deficiency or anything else could result in our current situation. Only true, natural and complete love as well as magical, spiritual compatibility results in a bonding and ours is underway. 

It’s very near a Comptus, the difference being that you can’t control it nor work to develop one. It comes only naturally and no one can deliberately effect the development of one. Not even, apparently to hinder it’s development, as I have tried and failed completely. 

He was nearly able to read my thoughts last night (he loves me). If he can read my thoughts, he’ll know what’s happening, he’ll know I lied, (won’t love me anymore) he’ll know that he has to die… Gods, Harry. Poor Harry, my Harry. Can nothing be simple with him? For him? Just this once, does he not deserve this one thing, this one small happiness? I sit heavily behind my desk, face in my hands, suddenly fighting tears. I love him, I don’t want to hurt him this way, I want to give him everything. The world, my heart, the affection he so desperately craves and deserves and needs. This will surely kill me, how I can continue to deny him and lie to him and hurt him. Precious Harry… 

Maybe it will all be over before much longer. Surely death would be less excruciating.

I turn my focus to research, having realized last night I’ve been looking at it from the wrong perspective. Starting at the beginning, combing through every tiny, copious detail for something he might have missed being nearly impossible, I need to start with what’s certain. I need to see why he’s so certain he’ll find it in Mexico, dig up the details of his search there, and prove or disprove his theory and work from there. For endless hours I dig through documents, relishing the distraction and the consuming nature of the work. I dig through mountains of notes, pages of texts, translate endless scrolls and feel more and more certain myself that he’s got the location right. I won’t be able to cut him off, but I begin to have my doubts that he’ll be able to use it or find it. It kills nearly everyone who possesses it and only worked for a select few. The final text I peruse states that the final civilization to have seen it some 2000 years ago considered it a bad omen and sign of evil and attempted to destroy it. It does not say what became of it. I close the book and contemplate my next move, how to delay him or discourage him. Perhaps… I allow him to retrieve it, then take it from him… or destroy it with him. Not a sound idea, considering I have no idea whether he’ll be able to use it instantly or not. These texts and notes and scrolls all have varying statements on what happens once someone gets their hands on it. It almost invariably seems to lead to mass extermination, ritual sacrifice and ultimate destruction of the user. However, the Dark Lord had seemed particularly interested in using it for time travel, there hasn’t been any mention of that use of it, granted it’s primary appearance has thus far been in nonmagical communities. Likely they didn’t realize its full potential or how to properly utilize it. Even with something like 2000 years of documentation on it, I know I don’t. Yes, it is unwise to allow him to get his hands on it, but what to do? 

The fireplace ignites green and I spring to my feet. It’s several hours yet until seven and I palm my wand as I wait for someone to step through. Draco stumbles through, ruffled and dirty, gripping a duffle bursting with clothes. He's panting looks over his shoulder toward the fire. 

“We're out of time. Mother will be through shortly. We fought them off she’s just Obliviating a few of them.” He exhales shakily and grips his bag more tightly. His eyes never leave the fire. Several breathless moments pass and I pull him away to the side and position him behind me to be cautious. Nearly five breathless moments later the fireplace bursts into life again. Narcissa steps through, dressed as a muggle, hair a mess and done up in a bun, there’s blood on her sweater. 

“Severus, bless you! She pants and strides over to me quickly, she points her wand square between my eyes and I jab mine into her chest, below a breast, directly at her heart. She grins and I glare. 

“Mother! What are you doing?!” Draco moves to step around me and I grab his wrist with my free hand. 

“What did Lucius come to you for help with?” I know immediately what she’s referring to and I glance at Draco, wondering if she truly means for me to say this in front of their son. She nods, “It’s time he knew exactly the man his father is.”

“A lubricant designed specifically to improve sexual relations for men exponentially, but causes excruciating pain for whomever their victim may be.” I try not think about the fact that I did create it and that it is still in frequent use among Death Eaters. “What did you tell me when I came to see Draco the first time?” 

She lowers her wand. “That he’d do well with someone like you around. You’ve only continued to prove your usefulness Severus. I do hope you’ve decided to help us.”

“Whatever you’ve planned seems to have gone a little awry.” 

“Nonsense. The timeframe has simply been… expedited.”

“I trust you understand my reluctance.”

“Of course.” She grins viciously. “Which is why it so very fortuitous that I should have a strong incentive for you.” She removes a small wooden square from her pocket and taps her wand to it, holding it between us. It resizes and becomes not a wooden square, but a broken mirror, reflecting wood that isn’t on the ceiling above it. The wood is familiar though, and as I watch, Harry’s face comes into focus briefly. He leans over and places his glasses onto his face. He’s dressed, his hair in worse disarray than usual suggesting he’s dried it aggressively. He’s beautiful.

The sliver of glass.

I snatch it away from her and resize it before stuffing it into my robes. My heart is hammering. “What is this? Where did you get it?” 

She smiles triumphantly. “Harry has part of a two way mirror. It was Sirius’s, I always found it rather fascinating and remembered it long after we lost touch. I also recalled having seen him use it with James on a number of occasions. When the house was ransacked, I thought of it and beat Mundungus Fletcher to it, lucky you. I’ve seen you in it as well, Severus, and I’ve seen you with him.” There’s a glint in her which makes me wonder how much exactly she’s seen of us, of me. “I’ve been watching him and he’s done quite well really. He can do what needs done, given enough time and a little assistance. So we’ll give him time as you’re already assisting him.” 

I sigh heavily. I can’t deny this. I’d have to Obliviate the both of them and destroy the mirror. Loathe as I am to keep it, knowing what a bad idea it is, I’d like to… I’ll have to keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere it will be well guarded. To be able to see Harry while I’m away from him… this is less of a threat and more of a gift. 

“So, Severus?”

I nod. “Take my arm.” 

She nods and does so, gesturing for Draco to do the same on my other side. I only hope she’ll not change her mind upon learning of Draco’s host, if he’s there thing’s could get interesting. I take a deep breath and summon the cabins location, sparing a thought for whether or not it’s even livable yet. 

The sun is setting and smoke rolls from the chimney. Remus is sitting on a porch swing, I have just enough time to note that the entire porch has been redone, before he draws his wand. I put my hands in the air and Draco and Narcissa do the same. 

“Remus. You remember Draco Malfoy and Narcissa, I presume?”

“What is this?”

“They need your help.” 

“They’re Death Eaters!” 

“And I’m not?” 

“That’s different. Dumbledore and Harry vouched for you, and I know full well Harry hates that boy.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard Harry use that word outside of describing a once dear persons feelings toward his own person. He’s certainly never directed such a sentiment toward Draco in my presence, though I have seen Harry express deep remorse over unintentionally harming him. Perhaps you could share such a mindset and help me to prevent his untimely death?” 

Remus glares at me. He’s unshaven and more exhausted than I’ve ever seen. A deep wound shines through his eyes and I’d recognize the look on anyone. He’s in love with him, with my Harry. He’s ripped his own heart out. My comment ripping something tentatively held together apart completely and he may as well be bleeding to death before us. 

I suppose I should feel bad, but I don’t. Serves him right. 

His hand trembles but he does not lower his wand. “Whatever this is, I won’t have any part in it. Not until you let me see him.”

Something feral claws at my chest. “Certainly you remember our last conversation and the circumstances under which it came to pass.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be clever? In what world does it make sense to allow you to disappear with Harry and come back with Death Eaters, that’s not any cause for alarm?” 

I pull the mirror from the inner chest pocket of my robe with slow, deliberate actions and resize it. “I trust you recognize this?” 

His eyes go wide. “Where did you get that?” 

“You may also recall Narcissa's relation to the Black family? She retrieved it from 12 Grimmauld which is a fair bit of good fortune as she’s been keeping tabs on Harry and has in fact seen myself through it as well. Evidence of their intentions I believe. If the Dark Lord was aware of my having been in Harry’s presence and not immediately handing him over no force on Earth could save me.”

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

“To what end? They find him and bring him in? I’ll not turn him over, will you?” 

“How do I know you haven’t already?” 

“While your continued existence is pure torture to me it is a gift you enjoy only through lack of betrayal.” 

He thinks on it for a moment, looks the Malfoys over and turns back to me, lowering his wand. “Let me see him.”

“No.”

“Please, Severus.”

“No.”

“I’ll not have any part in this until I do.” 

“You imagine I’m giving you a choice?”

“I thought you said they needed my help.” 

“They need your cottage. They’ll manage beyond that on their own.” 

“Not until I can see him.”

“There are ways to force cooperation, I don’t exactly require your consent.”

“Severus.” Narcissa hisses over my shoulder and I cringe inwardly at my choice of words. “Just let him see him!” 

I consider her briefly before I shake my head.

“Please, Severus. I _need_ to!”

“I don’t care. Harry does not wish to see you and you’ve no one to blame but yourself. You don’t deserve to see him-” 

“I know that!” He roars at me, startling me into silence. “I don’t want his forgiveness, I don’t think I deserve what I’m asking and what I want is selfish in nature but simple. I can’t even say I wouldn’t have asked without you showing up with them. I don't deserve it but… he… he's… I need it. I can't stop seeing him… before he left.” 

I remember the state Harry was in when I found him. What if that was the last time I’d seen him, if I didn’t know he’d smiled again, that he had slept and laughed and been held, happily… what if I'd been the cause? “You deserve it.”

Haunted eyes meet mine and I swear burn me slightly. This is hypocrisy I realize and mostly done in spite… but Harry is mine and I’ll not let some petty werewolf take his fill of comfort after hurting him based on happiness I’ve provided. 

“He’s not property. You can't just keep him.” 

“He may not be property but he is _mine_ and I'll protect him as I see fit.” 

His eyes burn me once more before he seems to decide on something. “You can have the ruddy place. It's all yours.” He strides toward us then passes by. “But I’ll have no part of whatever this is.”

I glance the Malfoys before pursuing Remus. Draco looks decidedly shocked by the content of our conversation but equally embarrassed to have heard, looking at the ground and clutching his bag as if his life depends on it. He doesn’t look at all like himself. Narcissa appears to have found the whole thing rather annoying and stands with her arms folded, lips pursed, glaring off distantly into the sky. 

“Remus! You and I will likely never come close to even relative comradery and as little as I want anything to do with you, this is a war! They need help and I won't always be available to them. You’re going to have to check in with them on occasion.” 

“Yes, of course Snape. I live to serve you and there’s nothing I should like more than spending time alone with Death Eaters to whom I’ve surrendered my ancestral home per your request. Anything else I might do for you?”

“Growing up would be a good start!” 

“Grow up?! You’re the jealous, possessive twit growling _mine_ over your new favorite toy every time someone happens to want a second with him! I made a mistake, Severus! I went to far! Am I truly to be punished forever for it?!”

“Certainly more than a day! If you’d like to prove you possess the maturity to make things right between the two of you, you may begin here.” I gesture behind us to the Malfoys, having a contrastingly subdued conversation of their own. 

His handsome features are aged by the scowl twisting them as he looks on the mother and son in disgust. He squares his shoulders and fixes demanding eyes on me. “If I do what you ask, will you let me talk to him?”

Never. Not in a million, bloody years. “We shall see.”

He sighs heavily and slumps. “That’s the best I’ll get out of you, isn’t it?”

“Definitely, and more than you deserve.”

He runs his hands over his face. “Let’s just get on with it. I’ve things to attend to.”

I examine his defeated posture, making sure he’s properly resolute before turning back to the Malfoys. “Remus has agreed to lend us his assistance, such as it may be. Mr. Malfoy,” he jumps slightly when I speak to him, “until such a time as things are settled and everyone is comfortable and adjusted, I must ask that you relinquish your wand.” 

Narcissa looks at him in preemptive reprimand and I am thankful for her trust and understanding. Draco’s jaw nearly hits the floor, his grey eyes bug out and his pallor intensifies. “ _WHAT?!_ You can’t be serious! I can’t be without a wand at a time like this, are you insane?!”

“It will stay on the premises, it simply won't be on your person.” 

“Not likely!” He drops his bag and fumbles in his pocket to pull out his wand. A quick, nonverbal Expelliarmus finds it in my hand and he clenches his fists at his side. His face goes red, his jaw is tight and his eyes murderous. I pass his wand to Remus, who seems quite put upon to be merely receiving a wand. 

“Do you now have suitable rooms, Remus?”

“Yes.” The word so clipped and droll I might have said it. 

“Would you be so kind as to assist Mr. Malfoy to whichever one you deem best?” 

He sulks off back in the direction of the cabin, Draco glares at me a moment longer before scrambling to collect his duffle and the few items it lost before giving him chase. Narcissa chuckles lightly once he’s out of ear shot and I turn back to her. She smiles at me, her posture relaxed, expression full of warmth and a familiarity I’m not certain we’ve achieved. 

“Thank you, Severus. He’ll be much better off.” I nod assentation unsure what’s brought on this sudden mood. “I have one last favor I must ask of you, I’m afraid.” 

This _can’t_ be good.

“I need you to kill me, Severus.” 

I gape at her. 

“They know that I know what’s been asked of him. They’ll suspect I’ll have tried to hide him, they’ll see that I fought several others off but if they find me dead and he’s still missing it will throw them off. It hasn’t been long yet, if we hurry you can kill me and sound alarm without being suspected. Did you never think that you would be the first suspected of helping me? You’ve done it before, after all, as Bellatrix knows. You can kill me in your office, tell them that I came to see you, that I was mad, aggrieved over Albus and Draco, that-”

“Quiet, are you lunat? There are better ways!” 

“What? Memory alteration? You’ll be the first person they talk to. If I hide with him they’ll never stop looking. They’ll know I helped and they’ll know I needed help. They’ll come for you and every one else that they think might have helped me and they won’t stop until they find us. This will throw them off balance. It will confuse them and draw suspicion away from you.” 

“Or toward me! Imagine how Lucius will feel to learn that I’ve killed you!”

“Keep your voice down!” She glances toward the house. “If you tell them I’ve betrayed them, that I tried to kill you first, that you had no choice you will likely be rewarded.” 

“The Dark Lord will want proof and even I am not that good of an Occlumens!”

A strange look passes over her face and she takes up her usually stony air once more. “Fine. I suppose we shall have to think of something else but first things first, I need your floo. There are several corpses in my upstairs parlor that will demand attention sooner rather than later since you refuse to listen to reason.”

I examine her closely, she’s posh and dignified once more and it looks rather odd outside of her extravagant robes, but I detect no tell of anxiety or lie. Her facial muscles are still and relaxed, eyes steady, breathing even. I’d hate to know what she has planned for the bodies. I nod and offer her my arm and she hesitates before she takes it.

“You… and Potter?” I quirk an eyebrow, my nostrils flare and I glare. She shrugs, “Only curious. He must have an incredibly generous spirit, to have forgiven what happened all those years ago.”

A pang of guilt. He can never know. "I have spent a lifetime making up for it.” 

“Undoubtedly. Merely an observation.”

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

She takes my arm and seconds later we’re back where we started. She brushes off her front, then wipes her hands on her pants, the blood on her sweater is still wet and it smears from sweater to hands to pants. I move away from her headed for my desk. 

“Perhaps we can mislead them, direct them elsewhere… I may have to Confund someone into an alibi. I perform a rather convincing charm but I don’t know if it will be enough… it’s best to have been seen together… perhaps Madam Rosmerta…”

Something whizzes just past my elbow and crashes into one of Albus's astronomy instruments, blue fire crawls across it before extinguishing. I spin on her. Her wand is still raised.

“No! Stop this!”

She takes aim at me again, a bolt of green I’d recognize anywhere just misses me as I duck away. 

She truly means to do this.

“Narcissa!”

“It will be better this way!”

The killing curse is flying toward me again and I dance out of the way with half a second to spare, aiming Incarcerous at her. She reflects it back and I am forced to dodge it as well. Again, the killing curse is fired off and I steel myself for what I must do. She’s craftier than I gave her credit for. I underestimated her. She knew that once she got me here I could either duel her until all of her planning was ruined and all of this was for not, and we’d both be killed, or I could kill her and show this to the Dark Lord.

I take a deep breath, focusing on all of the hatred I feel for him, the Black’s, the Lestrange's, the Potter’s, countless other families ripped to shreds. Let this be the last martyr before Harry. Let him never know of this mothers sacrifice. Let him never know this sin is on my hands. Should he ever know… 

May he blame Voldemort just as much as I.

“Avada Kedavra!” 

It strikes her square in the center of her chest, hurling her backward, she bounces off my office door and lands face down. Many of the portraits, largely quiet at any time of late, exclaim. I ignore them and swallow against reflux in my throat. With shaking hands I pull up my sleeve to press the mark. 

Merlin, be with me.

 

~*~

He believed it. All of it. I can’t believe… he shouldn’t have. It’s all too convenient, too obvious. But maybe the simplicity of it was our ultimate salvation, the memory a nice touch, my own good standing aside. On list of unbelievable happenings, I hadn’t thought Bellatrix could be more revolting. She sobbed over Narcissa's beautiful corpse until the other dead Death Eaters bodies were confirmed to have her magical signature within them. Then she’d spit on her face and sent her up in flames, even as Lucius watched, face ashen, eyes glazed. Had she begged him? Implored him to see reason? Perhaps even asked in the name of love? Whatever she’d said or done, she’s gone now. A mother, a wife, lost to this senseless war. Another life I’ve taken. 

And now I have to tell her son.

I can’t quite muster up my usual flair as I approach the cottage. Remus storms out looking annoyed. “Where the bloody hell have you been?! I need to go, I had somewhere to be nearly an hour ago!” 

I suppose something in my expressions reveals my turmoil and exhaustion and he falters mid-step. 

“Is it Harry?” Suddenly breathless.

My heart clenches. I can’t think about that now. The connection scalds me.

“Not everything revolves around your precious golden boy!” 

“He’s so suddenly mine and a boy, is he?”

“He’s fine! It isn’t him!”

“How could I possibly know, how could anyone know? You continuously disappear with him and come back alone… where is Narcissa?”

Gone. “Where is Draco?” 

“Asleep. He was exhausted and starving. He bathed and collapsed into bed after dinner, barely even complained about the place not being solid gold. Something's seriously disturbed him. Where’s his mother?”

“… She’s dead.”

There’s a stunned silence, his gold eyes wide in shock and sympathetic pain. I wonder that he might have let them die only hours ago and that he can now hurt for the boy. 

“H-how?”

“… The Dark Lord ."

"How did you escape?"

"We went back to the manor for some things, I was elsewhere when they found her in a parlor full of dead Death Eaters. They assume Draco escaped moments before her to an unknown location. Narcissa gave nothing away. I was never even questioned.”

“… Then what took so long?” 

He’s too damn smart, but only when you don’t want him to be. “My presence was expected until the end of the… investigation.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you sleep at night.” 

I want to snipe back but I can’t muster it as I remember how I managed to sleep the night before. I miss Harry. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“How can you even look Harry in the face?. If we were to list our sins mine couldn’t possibly measure up, yet you say I’m unworthy and run your own filthy hands all over him?” 

“Enough.” My voice sounds weak and I hate it.

“You let me think you’d never touch him. I promised I wouldn’t, I’d rather he hated me than tie him down to me, you say I’m to be punished for saving him that pain, but I’m foul?”

“He’d never have you anyway.”

He chuckles wryly. “You’re so sure. We barely know each other Severus, but you should have seen the look he gave me when I nearly kissed him.” I’ll kill him. “He's left his very best friends in the dust but he’s heartbroken to have lost me? That doesn’t strike you as odd? You can’t possibly know each other so well just yet, what is it you’re so defensive of, Snape? Have you fucked him yet?” 

My fist connects hard with his nose, I feel bones break, but it’s not enough. I swing again, his jaw this time and I watch as a tooth flies through the air. But he doesn’t go down, he swings right back around and tackles me to the ground.

He straddles me and swings, he makes contact with my mouth. “HAVE YOU?!” 

He swings again but I dodge it and flip us, swinging after him and blacking his eye. I growl between gritted teeth, “ _Never_... talk… about him… like that!” I accent my words with blows, some connect better than others but he isn’t giving up, trying desperately to flip me and finally manages as my last swing finds the gravel beneath us.

He tries to pin me to my stomach, perhaps so I can’t fight back, perhaps to stop the fight altogether, I don’t know why, but it triggers me in a way most things can’t and I flail out wildly, kicking after him. He lunges toward me and grabs my hair, swinging with his left. “Don’t you fucking touch him you slimy fucking creep!” 

“I haven’t yet, but he begs me to.” I feel like vomiting as the words leave me. I hate myself. I’ll never touch him again. The horror on his face would be comical were it not a mirror image of the feelings my own words inspired within me. But I’m nothing if not persistent. “How long would you hold out?”

He flings me back away from himself. “You’re disgusting. You’re… you’re a monster. You’ll never be good enough for him, and he’ll figure it out sooner or later.” 

I see past him Draco, standing on the porch. Of course. Why not. I stand and spit blood. We’re both absolutely hideous, cuts and swelling and bruises. Every inch of our faces bloodied. 

“And I’m to take it you’re working together?” 

Remus turns away from me slowly, still snarling. 

“The same transpires where you’ve just come from. It’s typically done in underhanded fashion. This is called _honesty_.”

“Honest fucking hatred.” I can’t be sure if Remus meant for me to hear him grumble that but I snipe back anyway.

“Mutual, honest fucking hatred.” 

“Bit dirty for my taste. Where’s my mother?” 

My blood runs cold… of all the infantile things to transpire before this conversation.

I realize I haven’t spoken and Draco is now looking between us frantically.

“Where is she, what’s happened?!”

“Draco… she’s gone.” My voice is likely the softest Remus has ever heard, not quite so soft as I am with Harry but nearly. He can’t resist a glance in my direction before training his attention back on Draco.

"Gone where?" 

Neither of us speak.

“No. No, I don’t believe you. I don’t believe you!” Remus takes a step forward, Draco leans on the railing. “It can’t be true, you must be wrong! It isn’t true!” 

“It is. I saw her.” I killed her.

He shakes his head almost violently, he’s hyperventilating. Remus rushes forward and steadies him an instant before he faints. I step forward, ready with Levicorpus and gesture for Remus to lead me to his room up the stairs. The rooms he’s built are small and plain, white pine floors, white walls. Even the bed posts are grey but he’s added small accents, sea blue rug and bedspread, orange flowers. All tastefully plain. For some reason the flowers send a stab of jealousy through me. Were they for Harry?

I must be going insane. I imagine a lesser man already may be.

I settle him on his bed and sigh heavily as I set at the foot of it, elbows on my knees, head hung low between my shoulders. Silence stretches out infinitely and I am grateful for it. I don’t want to face Draco, I don’t want to face Hogwarts, I don’t want to do any further research or brew, or even hit Remus anymore. I just want to go home, to sleep. I want to see Harry. 

“I have to go.” Remus is standing in the doorway, looks at me with something akin to pity though he hides it quickly. I rub my jaw and regret it as the ache hits me. 

“Let me heal your injuries.” He actual jumps he’s so surprised but he scowls at me immediately after. 

“Piss off. I’ll be back in three days.” 

I scoff at his childishness and turn back to Draco. This will only be more difficult once he wakes. How does one plan to deal with this? What I wouldn’t give to know how Albus handled Harry after Sirius-

Son of a bitch. Harry. I turn and run from the room, down the stairs, out the door. It’s too late, Remus is gone. I can’t be gone from Harry for three days with no word! Even if… no. No. We’re done.

_He begs me…_

… And what of Hogwarts? If I don’t turn back up for days after what’s happened I may as well hand myself over. And schools starting back! I can’t send a Patronus it’s too dangerous. I’m not going to bind him to the bed… unless I have to. No, I won’t. But I can’t stay here, I can’t… the fireplace! Is this place on the floo network? I search frantically for floo powder but come up empty and growl. No phone, no owl, no floo… Draco will just have to get his shit together bloody quick.

 *****************

If the day whatever happened with the Malfoys went by slowly, the next day went by at a snails pace. The connection a form of torture worse than Dementors and Cruciatus combined. I pace and read and even look at his notes on his research, surreptitiously placing it back precisely where I found it, unable to make a bit of sense of it. I go outside early or late, afraid to be spotted, not daring to wander far. I exercise to the point of serious strain. Anything to distract me from Severus’s absence and the weight of his feelings and my own concern. But three full days is my limit. I’m leaving tonight. I’m rather afraid to apparate with this wand, once was pressing my luck, so I’m flooing to the Weasley’s. While I’m nearly as afraid of Remus as I am of this wand, I assume I’ll need him to take me to the cottage. Hopefully he’ll turn up or they can get to him for me. I pace the length of the small area five… six more times. Bollocks on this, on waiting. It’s two in the afternoon, but I’m leaving. I snatch the floo powder off of the mantle and floo straight over. Bollocks on manners. Why no one ever bothers to tell me a damn thing but expects so much from me… 

The place is completely still. I panic. It’s never this still. 

“Hullo?”

I hear footsteps from the kitchen and turn in time to see Remus round the corner. He stares at me almost aggressively. He looks like utter hell, dark bags under his eyes, unshaven, rumpled clothes… are those the clothes he’d been wearing when I left?

“Harry.”

I can’t decide if he sounds relieved or resolved but I don’t hear hatred. Something in me snaps and I rush him and throw myself at him. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder, hot tears spring unwillingly from my eyes and soak into his shirt and he grabs me back equally fierce.

“I’m so pissed at you.”

“You should be. I’m so sorry.” 

“Good.” 

He chuckles and buries his face in my hair. It reminds me of Snape and I’m ashamed that this hug feels this good. I also wonder where everyone else is.

But I don’t let go. “Where is everybody?” 

“… It’s Hogwarts tomorrow.”

No. I grip him tighter. “They’re taking Ginny back?!” 

“And Luna.” 

I push away from him. He doesn’t hesitate to let me go.

“I told them not to go. No one listens to me.” His eyes are apologetic.

“They’re mad.”

“They must be.”

And then it hits me. “So that’s where Snape is.” 

He seems genuinely surprised and furrows his brow. “What do you mean? He hasn’t been with you?” 

That surprises me. “No. Not since he left for… you know what. He never came back.” 

He stares me up and down and then pulls his wand. I panic and freeze. “Who’s the first person I told my biggest secret to?” 

I relax and kick myself. I’ll never remember to do this, I swear. Idiot. “My dad.” 

“And the second biggest?” 

“Me.” 

“Where?” 

“The cottage.” 

He puts his wand away and looks at me with a sympathy that hurts though I can’t say why it should. “He should have been back at least twice that I know of. He said he had. I left… you know, with Molly. You’d never guess it but she adores him.” My eyes bug out even as my heart breaks. “I… well, I don’t know what to do. He drug… the dragon,” he snickers, “that’s what Molly calls him, along here yesterday, told Molly he had urgent business and that he needed to see you and get to Hogwarts. They told me Draco was a mess. Likely needed a gentler hand.” 

I’m fighting a rising panic though suddenly the mass of emotions I felt that day make sense. I shouldn’t have let him go. “Why’s he need anyone, what about his mum?”

Remus gives me a quiet, meaningful look and shakes his head. 

I don’t know what to say, or even really how to feel. It’s Draco but… I know all too well what it feels like to lose someone you love… a parent.

I’m crying again. Why can’t I stop crying lately? Especially in front of Remus. I wipe my eyes and suddenly find myself in a warm embrace again. It shouldn’t feel this good, he isn’t Snape. This is Remus… but he’s warm and comfortable and familiar and always here for me… except when he isn’t.

“Did you mean a single word of it? Is this wrong, should I go?”

“No, Harry. To all of it. I didn’t mean a word… I’m just… I’m an arse. I don’t want you to go… this isn’t wrong.” 

But it is. Or is it? Where the hell is Severus, couldn’t he at least have looked me in the face to tell me he didn’t want me… or is he stuck some where, thinking of me, in danger? The connection’s been nothing but a mess of guilt and heart ache and self loathing the last several days. I don’t think he’s in trouble, maybe he doesn’t even want this. He could have at least talked to me, told me anything. I check it again and feel pure rage. I let Remus go like he’s caught fire. It's wrong.

“You don’t suppose Snape could be in trouble?” 

His eyes flash in pain. It’s very, very wrong. “He's been coming and going.”

“… so he's just… quit of me.” I try for kidding but my voice won't cooperate. My chest aches and a corresponding ache resounds from his end. It makes me angry. He’s done this, he’s doing this. He hasn’t got any bloody right, he a prat, he’s a git, it’s all his fault! 

It makes him hurt worse. It makes me feel guilty. I love him. He hurts more. That can't be good…

“Harry? … Are you alright?”

I don’t know what I am. Why wouldn’t he just talk to me? What am I supposed to do? How should I feel? Why would he do this to me?

“You can talk to me, Harry. I’m… I’m so sorry I hurt you. That I broke your trust. But if you want to, if you need to…” he puts his hands on my shoulders.

Who else could I possibly talk to? Hermione, but I’ll never get her away from Ron… and I’m so… I’m just… lost.

I meet his eye… “I’m… I’m just so bloody confused. He… he acts like… I don’t know. He told me he’d never… felt like this for anyone… but he… I mean, he just left me there, didn’t say anything.” 

A strange look crosses his features and he drops his hands. He nods, “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“No. Nothing explains that. He left me alone for three days, no idea what was going on. He could have popped in and said, ‘Hey, I’m alive, it wasn’t a trap,’ or if he wants or needs to be rid of me, he could just say so. There’s no reason for him to come and go like this and not say anything to me.” 

I’m properly angry now and Remus nods again. “Maybe… things with Narcissa… reminded him of your mother.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It takes some of the wind out of my sails. “Yeah… maybe. But this still isn’t bloody fair. It isn’t right.” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

I meet his eye and there’s something between us that wasn’t there before. I’m not sure I like it. I don’t know how to feel about Snape yet but I know that, suddenly, Remus's eyes look more like honey than amber. He smells like home, like comfort and clean and welcome. I can’t seem to stop wanting to touch him and I’ve not wanted anything like this with anyone other than Snape. And I still want it with him more. If Snape were here, I wouldn’t even be looking at Remus. 

But Snape isn’t here. He left me. And my wanting him makes him feel just as bad as leaving has. And I don’t feel any of what he feels for me… what is he doing?

“I’m so confused.”

“Snape’s... odd.” I smirk. “To understand most of what he does you'll have to talk to the man. And even then…”

“Yeah.”

“He shouldn't do this to you… but maybe there's a reason. Something you can talk through.” 

I nod. “So. Talk to him. How exactly do I do that when he’s avoiding me?” 

“Ah. Yes. Guess that’s… a matter for you to decide.”

“What?”

“Whether or not you want to tolerate something like that in a relationship.” 

“If he can’t help it-”

“It’s your decision Harry, I’m not judging. I trust you know your own heart. I just don’t… don’t want to see you hurt.”

I blush and nod. 

“Harry… it’s… personal, you don’t have to answer me but I… have you…”

He doesn’t finish. “Have I… what?”

“Have the two of you… ?” He wriggles his eyebrows in a ludicrous manner.

I turn crimson. “Bloody hell Remus! First… I don’t even properly know… the logistics of… _that_ , with men, second it’s been… what, a week? Not even, really! We’ve fooled around a bit, but no!”

He laughs at me and I blush deeper. “I’m sorry, Harry. I know it’s none of my business I… you know that… I know it can be harder… when… with your first…”

Oh. “Oh… of course, I didn’t… think. I’m sorry. Yeah, no… thanks… for asking.”

He chuckles again. His teeth are very straight. “’Course, Harry. What do you say we go see Ron and Hermione?” 

“Where are they?” 

“Molly thought it might help to have some familiar faces his own age about, though Ron’s no help. Nearly lost his head when little Dragon popped up at the Burrow.” 

“Yeah, I reckon.” My throat feels tight. Remus holds the kitchen door open for me and when I step through I think I might cry, the sight of the Burrow’s marsh is so beautiful to me. Even in winter, the grass heavy with ice and grey, it’s beautiful. 

We walk a bit into the grass together and my heart clenches as I remember kissing Severus that first time. I only realize I’ve stopped walking when Remus shoulders me. “You alright?” I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I nod and look at the ground. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me along, “Not quite past the wards.”

It shouldn’t feel good. It’s wrong. I make it my mantra as we walk. What’s wrong with me? The thought of this was horrifying four days ago… wasn’t it? Was it all just muffled by desire for Severus? It doesn’t matter! He’s married, he’s having a baby! Get it together!

Before I can brush his arm off he squeezes my shoulder and we stop. He cocks his elbow and I take his arm, feel my stomach turn inside out and arrive at a very different looking cottage.

“You redid the porch!” 

“I redid most everything. I never stopped… I wanted everything fixed before… I mean to give it to you.” 

“But you can’t. What about your child?” 

His eyes widen briefly and his mouth opens and closes before he shrugs. “There’ll be other houses in the next 17 years. This ones yours.”

“Remus I… I can’t accept this. Tonks-”

“Already knows, remember?” His eyes glint mischievously.

“You told me she doesn’t worry because there’s nothing to worry about.” 

“And there isn’t. And she doesn’t. She already knows, it’s yours.”

“What do I need with two houses?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

I shake my head and start walking toward the cottage, dropping the subject for now and resolving to figure out a way to make him take it back later. 

The scene that greets me when I open the door is so unexpected I’d never have believed it had I been told second hand. Draco stands in the foyer with Hermione and Mrs. Weasley around him, a towel over his shoulders, Mrs. Weasley trimming his hair, Hermione pinning down his ear, pointing out a patch Mrs. Weasley missed.

Draco looks as amused as I feel. Ron’s sulking in a corner of the living room. The furniture’s been rearranged and improved. “Hiya Draco. Hey Ron, ‘Mione. Mrs. Weasley.” 

Hermione squeals in a way I’ve never heard her do and runs up on me dangerously fast, shoving me back into Remus when she lands. He seems as unable to keep his hands off of me as I feel. grabbing my shoulder would have sufficed to steady me but his other goes to my hip. He doesn’t push me away and I take a surreptitious step forward with Hermione still in my arms. My face burns but no one mentions it. Ron envelopes the both of us and Hermione, to my great surprise, shoves him away. I try to make eye contact and he won’t. 

“Harry!” Hermione squeals in my ear and bounces in my arms. “Oh this is brilliant! It’s so good to see you! Are you staying?” My face falls and hers does as well. “What is it? What’s happened?”

I shake my head and give what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Nothing’s happened, ‘m fine. I guess I… I guess I am. Staying.” 

Mrs. Weasley squeals along with Hermione and Draco and I share a look over Hermione’s shoulder. 

“That’s great, mate. This place has got to be better than whatever hole that… Snape. Stuck you in.” 

I glance Hermione who blushes and scowls furiously at Ron. How much did she tell him. In fact… 

The whole room's gone quiet. They’re keeping something from me again. Do they all know? Did they do something to him? Is this their doing?

Remus clears his throat, “Who's bunking up with Harry?” 

“Us, obviously. Harry, you’re not leaving my sight again until you absolutely have to. I’ve missed you so much! And we have so much to talk about.” 

I stare daggers around the room but they all seem to miss it. “Evidently.” 

All except Hermione, “Yes, we really do.”

“All done Draco, dear!” Ron scoffs and Draco glowers over top of a mirror before inspecting his reflection. 

“Ronald Weasley… I have never been more disappointed in you in all my life!” Hermione spits at him in a harsh whisper.

“Hermione-” 

“I don’t care! Grow up!” She storms upstairs dragging me with her, I glance backward, most eyes are on her. Remus stares only at me. 

Hermione takes me through the first door, what used to be a moth infested linen closet is now a bedroom thought it can’t be where she and Ron are bunked, there isn’t enough room.

“Draco’s bedroom. Harry… poor Draco.” She flops down on the bed. 

I nod. “His mum.” 

“His life. He’s so lonely. I mean… he told _me_ of all people.”

My conversation with Remus comes to mind. “Must have really needed to talk. Ron?” 

“Is convinced it’s all a lie. Can’t say I blame him. But I don’t know how I’m to kill all of you with no potions and no wand.” Malfoy strolls in lacking any of his usual arrogance and sits beside Hermione who smiles first at him, then me. 

“Hell of a feat of wandless magic for someone like you.” He looks as if he might take the teasing seriously so I wink. 

He rolls his eyes. “They call me the dragon around here. Perhaps he thinks I’ll set a fire.” 

“That’s a stretch, supposing he thinks.” Hermione folds he arms moodily and purses her lips.

“Oi.” That’s still my best mate.

“Harry, you’ve no idea. He gets worse everyday.” I’ve never seen Hermione this angry with him.

“I do, do I? You’re supposed to be the smart one Hermione, none of this strikes you as odd?!”

“Maybe it would if we hadn’t been over and over it, Ron!” 

“So you’re just gonna take the word of Death Eaters?”

“And Harry and Remus! Your mother even, Ron!” 

“We’re not still on this Death Eater rubbish? Ron…” 

“Listen, shag who like mate, it’s kinda gross you’re a bloody shirt lifter but even as a queer you can do better than this lot. You don’t get to risk our lives dragging in every Death Eater poofter you find for a good blow.” 

The house is deadly still. In fact, I believe time itself stands still. Who is this person in front of me. I don't know him at all. My fists shake with the effort it takes to keep them by my sides and away from his face. “Get out of here. Now.” 

“Mate-”

“I’m not your fucking mate anymore, Ron! Get out!” The house shakes. It’s been a while since I had an outburst of accidental magic. 

“Fine. I see how it is. Little uncomfortable being surrounded by Slytherin Death Eaters anyway.” 

“Go home.”

Hurt and rage in equal measure on his face, he turns and storms away. I hear Mrs. Weasley reprimand him on his way. I turn back to Hermione and Draco. Hermione looks bitterly disappointed but approving. Draco looks surprised but relatively unfazed. 

“Amazing how time changes things.” Draco lays back flat on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordy. I am so. Sorry. For the delay. My life has been an actual nightmare of late. Between family stints in the stress center, open heart surgery, back surgeries, a friends suicide, my own health deteriorating, my on again off again relationship, I spent quite a bit of time just being a bad person, laying in bed with ice cream. 
> 
> But I'm back! 
> 
> I might give you shorter chapters for more frequent updates, let me know what you prefer. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Update

So.

Here I am again with problems and such. 

Took an impromptu vacation with friends fully planning to come back refreshed and ready to write only to find out that I have cancer, you might recall I mentioned frequently being sick. Now I know why haha. My mother was committed after a lifetime of mental illness shortly after and my boyfriend broke up with me and moved out a week after that.

I have zero motivation for anything. Lol. But this story feels like a lifeline more often than not I still think about it regularly and crave the distraction of writing. I just haven't found much time to sit down and write mainly due to procrastinating in everything else.

I'm not abandoning this fic, I've got about a quarter of the next chapter written, I'm just on a bit of a struggle bus currently. Prayers and kind thoughts, good vibes, any and all cosmic energies very much welcome and appreciated. Hope things are well with all of you! Thanks for your patience once again! :D


	15. Uncertainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers and darkness ahead!!! I tried to make it less dark and no matter how I tried it wouldn't be written any other way. It might be my current state or it might just be what this story wants, I can't be sure. If it isn't your thing, I don't know what you're doing here, my tags don't lie. Haha. But seriously it's just a few paragraphs you can skim through.

* * *

“Never would have seen any of this coming when were kids. Or even last year,” The slight, wry smile fades from his lips. “From mortal enemies to total reliance on your mercy. And whoever might have thought Weasley would be such a prig to the one and only Harry Potter. Funny indeed.”

In spite of the great pit opening in my stomach I shoot a questioning look Hermione’s way. Referring to me as “the one and only Harry Potter” might be irritating but the matter of fact tone took the malice right out of it.

“We think he’s in shock. He’s been sort of… cycling between… well this and fits of rage or silence. Mostly, he’s like this.”

“He’s also right here.”

“Yeah. Bit annoying having people talk about you like an object and not a person with working ears.” I meant it as a barb in response to the Chosen One mania he brought up but it comes out friendly, joking. Malfoy's right. I can hardly believe I’ve just shouted Ron out of my life so I might share common ground with him. Last year I would have believed nearly anything possible before that. It’s beyond strange to be on common ground with Malfoy, and while it’s not uncommon for Ron and I to bicker, I'd have never thought anything of this magnitude possible.

“Sorry, it’s not as if you would have told him what I just did.” Hermione stiffens and the familiarity of her tone and attitude spreads a warmth through me. I’ve never been happier to see her.

“I certainly wouldn’t have put it that way. I’m not so much in shock as my entire life has been turned around and I’m trying to figure out exactly which way is up.”

“That’s all of us, I think.” I feel out the connection again. There’s a dull aching to it now, as if I’ve taken a blow to the chest. Snape’s worried about me, the crippling guilt and longing is worse as is the self loathing. I pull up the full brunt of my pain at his abandonment and my longing as well. I know it likely shows on my face and I don’t care. Absolute misery that’s not my own overwhelms me and a small vindictive corner of my mind is glad, but all I really want is for him to come back, I don’t truly want him to hurt. I try to relay the desire with emotion and receive only more guilt and self loathing in return.

“Yeah, you’ve certainly been through some interesting developments.” My eyebrow raises in question as do my hackles, and I prepare to defend myself. Certainly here comes the expected arrogant rat I know. “Last I knew you were with Ginny Weasley. Six months later... you’re not only gay, you’re with Snape? And have the werewolf on the sidelines, evidently. Rather… curious triangle that. Personally I’m surprised Snape tolerates the wolf’s interest… well, I suppose he doesn’t, really. Brawling in the yard like they were our age and not nearly twenty years our seniors-”

The slight mockery and following irritation are sucked out of me with the air in my lungs. “Wait, what?!”

Draco half straightens to look at me. “Snape didn’t tell you?”

The sting runs through me again. _He never came back…_ “No one tells me anything.”

He lays back down with a shrug. “Remus thought I was sleeping. I went down stairs when I heard Remus start shouting, wondering if it was at…” he pauses and clears his throat, “anyway, they were shouting. Remus asked if Snape had fucked you yet, which Snape didn’t take very kindly to. Though later he said that you’d begged for it and asked Remus if he could turn such an offer away. Thought Remus might empty his dinner all over Snape before killing him for that, though no one had much to say to the other beyond that. Think it surprised the both of them. Though my arrival sort of put an end to things, too. No telling really.”

I’m barely listening to him. My face flames and my blood boils, though I can’t decide whether I ought to be more embarrassed or offended or enraged or who I’m more angry at or what I’m most angry about. There’s a long silence then in which I stare at the doorway, debating going downstairs to shout Remus's ears off and deck him myself… though another part of me that I’m beginning to suspect is made entirely out of spite toward Snape is incredibly pleased with him. But it puts a different light on why he asked if we’d done anything yet, I’m not so sure he asked out of concern anymore. I only make myself more confused and note I'll have to think on all this long and hard later.

“So has he?”

I look back to Draco, furrowing my brow in confusion. “Er… what?”

“Did you?”

My eyes shift, “Did I what?”

He scoffs in exasperation, “Has Snape buggered you entirely witless or were you always this way?”

I turn purple with embarrassment, I’m sure. Twice in one day? Hermione swats Draco in the chest. “That’s none of our business! And more than I’d like to know, quite frankly!”

“Not me. As a poofter myself I’d like to know what it’s like. And besides, Snape’s rather fascinating, don’t you think?”

“So you are, then?” I cling to the chance to change the subject, oddly desperate not to tell them I haven’t and yet equally mortified they should think I had.

“Am… ?”

“Ron had more or less said you were gay. How should he know?”

There’s a pause before Hermione straightens. “I think Mrs. Weasley was taken by surprise at the difference between the Malfoy's we’ve always known and how Draco’s been since… since coming here. She’s been sort of… enamored and had mentioned several times in a few short minutes how very handsome he is and how happy he might make some young lady... Draco sort of-”

“I snapped, rather loudly, that young ladies aren’t typically made happy by queer men.”

The combination of the oddness of my current company and the situation we’re in, the absurdity of what Draco said and when, as well as my desperate need for distraction makes for a heady rush and I start laughing, nearly hysterically. Hermione joins in, blushing delicately and Draco fights it only momentarily before cracking a smile.

“Good to know I’m not alone.” He says with sobering sheepishness and I look to Hermione as I wipe tears from my eyes. She bites her lip and looks down at her hands. I look back to Draco, whose smile has gone completely.

“I… don’t mean to push it or… be… insensitive, but like I said, nobody tells me anything…” he opens his eyes and looks at me, “I don’t know what’s happened or anything and… we should talk… or we could. If you want. It looks like we’ll be working together and… it might be good to be able to trust each other a bit more.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Potter. And nothing to push. I know full well everyone thinks I’m going to fall apart at any moment but I’m not nearly so easily disturbed as all that.” He gets up off the bed and stands before me, shoulders squared, arms folded, slightly taller, and it doesn’t irk me as much as it used to. “My ‘ _father_ ’ is a vile monster, he lied to me and manipulated me and tried his damnedest to make me like him, and I was blind to it. I ate all the shite he fed me and did everything he asked. My mother tried her best to show me reason and protect me but I was so caught up being my father’s miniature that I didn’t see it until he… more or less sold me to the Dark Lord and now, my mother is dead, and my father likely doesn’t care beyond being pissed we’ve ruined their plans. I hate them both and I want them dead for what they’ve done and what they are, and according to most, you’re the one that’s going to make that happen, so that's that. I’m away from there and where I need to be, and I’d like to be of help as opposed to lying about while everyone dodges me.”

What he's said is believable and full of conviction, but I don't know… this isn't the Draco of Hogwarts. All of his pompous, sneering, bullishness is gone. I can see that he’s broken, sense something like guilt though he hides it behind a fragile confidence. What other kind of miracles can this day bring? “So… you didn't want to take the mark?”

His eyes shift to the floor. “I- I can't exactly say that.” It’s said through clenched teeth, he takes a breath and loosens his fists. “But I can tell you I only wanted to because of my father. I don't genuinely hate Mudbl-” he looks over his shoulder at Hermione, “er- sorry. It’s… just a disgusting habit. I don’t really believe any of that rubbish, I was just… playing a part to please my father. And he had me convinced it was the only way to keep my mum safe. I was so worried about impressing my father… I couldn’t even see that he never really cared about us. He was just using me for his career as a Death Eater and he didn’t care about my mum either way. He got me, an heir, out of her and then he kept her locked away until he needed a pretty accessory for social occasions.” He glares at a point beside me. “After I did… what I did… things were supposed to get better. But he just said the the Dark Lord was disappointed because Snape had to finish it… that he’d have to ask more for me to prove myself. I think… even if I’d agreed, it would just keep going like that, because that’s who he is. No one’s his favorite, no one’s actually important or anything you’re just tools to build the world he wants. And it doesn’t end there either he’s just… a lunatic. There’s always going to be something else, no one’s safe and nothing he says is real. I know that now. I think part of me always did, because of my mother. But for the most part, I was just desperately trying to be who my father wanted me to be. I don’t know why my mother ever married him but… she gave her life to save me.” He gives me a meaningful look. “And partly just to keep Him from getting what He wanted.” He smirks, eyes distant again for a moment before he focuses back on me. He continues quietly, “You know what that feels like. I could never disrespect her sacrifice. I want to help, however I can.” His eyes glisten with emotion and sincerity a moment before they return to their normal hard grey and I find I believe him.

“Still… what you did…” Hermione starts but I don’t plan to let her finish. Draco’s mild confidence that had begun to return fades and he stares at the floor.

“Snape’s done things too, Hermione. Aside from Dumbledore. But he’s on our side, and we forgave him. And he’ll likely have to do more before everything’s over...” _We all will_ , I think it, but I can’t bring myself to say it.

“Snape's proved his loyalty too, though.” She seems to be simply stating arguments rather than actually arguing.

“Draco will too, if we give him more than a day.” I say it with a sense of utter confidence that surprises everyone in the room.

Draco’s head snaps up. “So you’ll… let me stay?”

‘Let me stay' obviously meaning something very different than what it sounds like. He can’t just be set loose on his own from an Unplottable location. “Er- was that not a forgone conclusion?”

“Remus told Molly it was your house and your decision, ultimately.”

I roll my eyes and scoff. “Is it just me or is everyone going a bit barmy?”

“The whole world has definitely gone barmy, though I think it’s to be expected.” Hermione pulls at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Draco looks between us a few times before nodding, “Definitely the world, life itself.”

We all chuckle a bit awkwardly and shift in our positions. Draco seems most nervous of us all and I realize I hadn’t really answered his question.

“I doubt if anyone ever really questioned whether or not I’d let you stay. Not if you told them anything like what you’ve just told me. We might not have ever been friends but… I’d never stop someone from trying to help us fight Him, not with good reason to trust them. Not after what you’ve been through.”

He let’s out a relieved breath and meets my eye. “I admit, I was the only one really worried. There’s been no love lost between us… with good cause. I haven’t done much to endear myself to any of you… and though Snape did tell me you didn’t know what you were doing in the first floor bathroom last year, I was still fairly convinced you’d prefer me dead. He promised me your main concern was that this was some kind of trap… I don’t expect us to become best friends or even for you to trust me completely… but it isn’t a trap.” He takes a steadying breath and I do too. Hearing that Snape defended me to him, even if it was to comfort him, fills me with a weak sort of hope. He’s forgiven that instance of absolute stupidity, something so close to him. Something bubbly blossoms in my chest and I feel jealousy through the connection.

He can’t sense that this is for him. It gives me hope. Which makes his misgivings worse.

 

Draco laces his fingers together before staring at his hands, “I haven’t told anyone why we were running yet because I wanted to tell you first after they said you’d be deciding if I stayed because… well, I think your reaction is the most important, if you’re to make the decisions then your opinion is the one that counts. I didn’t want anybody to sell it short telling it second hand, I wanted you to know exactly how I feel and the first telling’s where you really get that.” I nod and listen patiently even though I can tell he’s rambling to stall. He glances at me from the corner of his eye before looking back at his hands. “You-Know-Who… he wanted me to… father a child. For him.” He goes a bit green. So do I.

“He wants…” Voldemort wants a child? Dread seeps through me. If the idea seems preposterous, it’s because it is. Voldemort wouldn’t want a child. Not for any conventional reasons. My own largely bleak life rapidly weighs on me and I fear for a child not yet conceived.

“But what could You-Know-Who ever want with a baby?” Hermione starts out loudly but her voice tapers off rapidly. She blushes and looks at me apologetically and I can’t help a small snicker despite myself.

Draco turns to her. “Really, Granger?”

She shakes her head and shrugs, “I suppose I’m a bit off my game, really, how stupid. Sorry, Harry.”

I shake my head and sober again quickly, looking back to Draco. He seems light years away, lost in his own thoughts. “I didn’t mean that he wants to parent a child. Honestly, I can’t fully imagine what he wants with a child, but I don't think I want to. When they told me, He and my father, I suppose I seemed reluctant,” he snorts, pale mouth twisted into a grimace. “They assured me that I’d never meet the child or even see it. They thought my issue was that I might be responsible for a child somewhere, so they made it quite plain to me that that was not the case. Whatever he wants… I don't believe the child… will… live.” His features are drawn and more colorless than usual, “And my father… my own father…” he swallows hard, “he knew how I felt. I’d told him and my mother when they began talk about an arranged marriage some time back that I was otherwise inclined in regards to the female form. My father didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. He told me over breakfast that they could arrange something so that no one would ever have to know, find the right type of girl, he said. My mother wouldn’t hear of it,” a small smirk, “but she never said anything in front of him. She said it would all work out. Nearly a year later, shortly after the Triwizard, he told me I’d marry whoever You-Know-Who picked for me because I couldn’t hope to do better than that. That I’d give him our first child and keep my mouth shut about any ‘ _girly nonsense_ ’ in the meantime.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes, nose wrinkled in disgust. “If it hadn’t been for my mum, I would have hated myself completely and ended up just like him.” His eyes are far away and he’s totally still. “He wanted me to… marry a girl I would never want and give them a baby to murder.” His eyes shine with a mixture of horror and anger and his skin turns a strange shade of gray. “I never really bought into all of what they said but for someone with supposedly such a great love for pure-bloods, you would think it likely wouldn’t do to go around killing them. He does it all the time and they pass that off easy enough as necessity of war, but a baby?” He glances at me and shakes his head, “I never really thought about it with you. Convenient for them, really, that we didn’t hit it off or I might have. Any doubt I had about You-Know-Who, my father, their side, it died then. My dad… I don’t want him. I'll never claim him as such again.” He looks at me finally, obviously uncomfortable and nervous but with such vulnerability that I can’t tear my eyes away. “I was never really a part of that world. At first I was doing what I thought would make my father proud, then I did what I hoped would keep my family safe… neither was ever actually possible. The only family I ever actually had was my mother and he killed her. That life was never mine but even if it had been… he's taken everything I ever had or even thought I had from me. I don’t have much to offer… I was never that close to You-Know-Who, I don’t know what he’s planning or how he thinks, like Snape, but I know Death Eaters and Snatchers, I know tons of names, faces, places and people to stay away from-”

“Hermione, dear! Would you mind coming down here for a moment?” We all startle and the spell of Draco’s voice and tale is shattered.

“Er… be right back.” She slides past both of us and rushes down the stairs.

Left alone with him I’m rapidly less amused by the strangeness of our newly formed comradery and more discomfited. An awkward silence falls over us in which I bite my lip and he tries and fails not to fidget.

“Look… Potter,” his voice breaks comically, considering how very strong I can tell he wants to sound, “it’s like I said, I don’t expect we’re suddenly going to be best friends… but we are going to be living together.” I hadn’t really thought of that yet… “It’s not as if we’re strangers, we just haven’t ever… made an effort or had reason to get on.”

“Besides you giving us every reason not to.”

He slumps a bit. “Obviously, besides that. I only mean that if you give me a chance-”

It was said in habitual hostility more than anything and I wish I could take it back immediately. “I plan to. I'm… sorry. I don’t mean to make things more difficult for you. Everyone ought to be given a second chance if they really mean well.”

He grins a bit and nods. “Um… thanks.”

Silence threatens us again and I try desperately to think of anything to say. “Draco,” it feels a bit odd to use this tone with him, and not to call him Malfoy, he even looks at me a bit suspiciously, “I’m sorry. About your mum, too.”

“Don’t be.” He stands up straight and though his pallor intensifies and his features take on the strain of his emotions, he looks a bit more himself than he has thus far. “Obviously I wish things could be different, but she knew what she was doing and she stopped him from getting what he wanted. She gave her life for what she believed in, to fight him. Snape said she was brave and strong, that she stood up for what she believed in, right to the end. She died an honorable death. I’m proud of her and what she did. There is no more courageous way to go. She brought some honor back to the Malfoy name. I will too.”

A genuine smile and understanding fills me, and the first real connection forms between us. Maybe death isn’t the best common ground on which to form a friendship, but it’s what we have. “I’m sorry I didn’t know her.”

He seems at a loss for an answer, but when he looks back up from my feet he smirks. “She was always pushing me not to listen too much to my father. Before fourth year she frequently urged me to try to get to know you. When she couldn't talk me into a desire for your company she tried for what practicalities my father was instilling. She went so far as to say that if I were to make friends with you, I would have a source of limitless connections after school. I think now she simply knew that I’d want out and might need you. This was all before the Dark Lord returned… had she known then… she likely would have gotten us out much sooner and not counted on me making my own decision.” He shakes his head. “Any rate, I think she would have liked to have made your acquaintance as well. At least until she figured what a git you are.” He winks at me and I resolutely refuse a thought that the gesture transforms his features pleasantly. “And I know she’d be grateful and thrilled to see how long we’ve all gone without hexing each other.”

I snort. He’s so different, it’s hard to trust or get a feel for this Draco. But loss will change a person. I should know. The choice has already been made, he’s here and we’re helping him so there’s nothing for it but to try to get to know him all over again in time. I wonder if he’s fighting his own instincts as hard as I am. I expect so, as uncomfortable silence surrounds us once more. I think I could escape without hurting his feelings under the guise of checking what Hermione was needed for…

“Can I ask you something that might seem… maybe odd or…?”

My eyes shift to the door subconsciously, the look he’s giving me makes my hair stand on end as adrenaline hums through my system. It’s that feeling again, it’s the one you get before everything changes. A mix of apprehension and excitement. I wonder when I got so intuitive and simultaneously hope he’ll think better of his question. “Yeah?”

He studies me a moment. “How well do you really know them? I mean… Remus and Snape?”

Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. Something about the way his eyes search me rubs me the wrong way, though. Why would he ever ask that? “Good enough, obviously. Why?”

He shrugs casually but the gesture doesn’t match his face or stiff posture. “Just… curious how much you trust them.”

My insides flinch with a surge of anxiety. “I’d trust either of them with my life.”

“I get Remus, I guess, but… Snape?”

I tense further, miraculously. “Especially Snape. He’s already saved my life likely more times than I’m even aware of and considering what we just covered…” I gesture to suggest the idiocy of his questioning. “What about everything you two have been through, isn’t that enough? ... Why are you asking?” My tone is prickly but I can’t stop myself. The hurt of betrayal is too fresh to be defending my trust in the man.

It’s a mistake, his expression shutters and he squares his shoulders. Some of his Malfoy indignation returns and he grants me a shadow of his missing sneer. “I suppose I ought not question what seems about as likely as a passing grade in Potions from Longbottom. Shouldn’t have expected someone like you to understand something so intelligent as listening to your better sense.”

“Someone like me?”

“A dunce.”

“Better a dunce than a ferret.”

“In your case, I’d think not. Ferrets have been known to show enough intelligence to do things like count and avoid danger.”

“And some just get trapped in their lackeys trousers.”

We're nearly toe to toe, my muscles tense in anticipation, his face red with embarrassment and anger. I’m ready to pull my wand the moment he shows cause but he surprises me again with a sunny smile. Perhaps the most brilliant and open expression I’ve seen cross his features so far. He laughs. It’s not the callous, mocking laugh I remember, but light and disused sounding. “I was beginning to worry you’d tiptoe around me, too. Glad to see I can count on you not to treat me as if I’m made of glass.”

In the face of his change I’m somewhat thrown but determined not to show it. His uneven behavior has me resolved to display balance. “I would so hate to disappoint you. Feel free to call on me anytime you need knocked down a peg or two, I’ll be around.”

“Why is that?”

“What?”

“Why are you here, with Lupin, and not with Snape?”

I try not to wear my emotions as I respond, maybe a bit too quickly. “He’s busy. I wanted out of his hair.”

A glance in Draco’s direction confirms that I’ve fooled no one. “I believe it was your idea to talk to and trust one another.”

“I said talk about what happened so as to maybe, eventually trust each other.”

“Right. In other words, ‘Spit it out Draco, so I can figure out what the hell is going on and be done with you.’”

“Hey, that's not-”

“It's fine, Potter. It's not as if I really care. Just trying to be useful.” He turns and flops back on the bed. “And I’m a tad bored. The drama between you three would do for some entertainment.”

I roll my eyes. This is all anything but entertaining.

A knock on the door frame has our attention before I can answer. I find Remus trying very hard not to appear wary or awkward. “Supper, if you’re hungry.”

Draco jumps in as if Remus had been speaking directly to him. “I'll pass. I think I'd like a bit of privacy if it's alright.”

Remus simply looks to me expectantly and I nod. “Be down in a bit.” He seems reluctant to leave but does so slowly.

I turn back to the bed. “I’m sorry, Draco. Things are just… complicated right now where they’re concerned and… there are more important things we need to be focused on.” He seems to be waiting for me to say more and I only barely repress a sigh. “It's stupid. I don't want to talk about it.”

He eyes me and shakes his head then shrugs.

“What?”

“Maybe later. I’m having a nap, get out.”

I suppose Hermione was onto something when she mentioned his mood swings. “You can’t just expect me to walk away after suggesting what you did.”

“If you don’t understand why complicated relationships and total trust are important and not ‘stupid' to consider right now then there isn’t anything to talk about.”

“I didn’t say-”

“Harry Potter, now!” Mrs. Weasley calls up the stairs and I sigh my frustration.

“Go on then. We’ve all the time in the world.”

Though his eyes are closed I glare as I exit. I don't know how much truth there really is in that statement, but I suppose it can wait until after lunch. Besides, I’m not over eager to hear whatever he has to say to me, knowing he seems to feel it means I ought to reconsider my feelings and trust for two of the most important people in my life. Though I don’t think anything could make me stop trusting either of them, they’ve proved themselves time and again, even if their motivations are different from anything I’d ever imagined they would be.

I make my way to the dining room and immediately note Hermione’s absence. I glance Remus, who sits at the antique farm table fidgeting, and feel a surge of discomfort recalling the news of his fight and Draco’s line of questioning. I choose to look to Mrs. Weasley with my questioning gaze.

She wears a distinctly remorse and angry expression. “Hermione has gone to straighten Ronald out. Harry, love, he’ll come around given time, but it’s entirely up to you whether you choose to forgive him or not. You’re as good as our own either way and…” she seems to think better of saying something, shakes her head to knock the thought away and concern crinkles her features. She pats me on the cheek, “So long as you’re happy and safe. That’s all that will ever matter to Arthur and me. And the better part of our children. Ginny was surprised, but even she was… thrilled for you.”

“So… everyone knows? Everything?” my voice expresses all of my horror but I’ve no control over it.

She grimaces. “Ron is rather prone to outbursts.”

I sit unsteadily.

“Everything is fine, love. While it was a tad surprising, and the ‘who' was undeniably a bit of a shock, it’s an entirely personal matter and as I’ve said, your safety and happiness is what really matters.”

“I just… I…” I don’t know what’s happening, if there’s anything to know outside of my orientation, which I really would have liked to let everyone know about myself. Now everyone’s going to adjust themselves to the news of our relationship only to have me tell them…

Tell them what? That he won’t see me? Have I been dumped? It certainly seems that way.

And then there’s the matter of Remus, who I’m beginning to blame a little, who they all heard desires claim to me as well, who also has a not so small bit of my attention, it seems, who’s married, who isn’t making matters any better or any more clear, who moves his chair closer to me and pulls me close against his side with an arm around my shoulders. He looks to Mrs. Weasley and I grimace slightly as I struggle not to pull away. “It should have been your choice, how and when you came out. But this is the worst of it. You may have had the choice taken from you but it is done now. And everyone loves you just the same. Even Ron. He’s just taking a little longer to come ‘round to the realization.”

My conflicting emotions where Remus is concerned rage more with the comfort of his words, but my mind latches on to one in particular. Love. Everyone still loves you. My anger toward him clashes intensely with my gratitude. It’s confusing and aggravating and a part of me is pulled towards him whether to hit him or hug him my mind cannot decide. I’m put off my lunch and current company and stand, suddenly, causing both of them to eye me with concern.

“I need a moment.” I turn, storming straight from the dining room to the front door.

Just one moment. There had been endless moments in the safe house to consider things, to try to think. The state of limbo Severus left me in wasn’t exactly conducive to sorting out my feelings on everything though. In fact, where my own feelings are concerned, I haven’t had a single peaceful moment in which to simply consider them since we left the tent. I’d been too concerned with Snape and then too worried over Remus and Ginny, then bounced between places, then the connection mucked my own feelings up with Severus’s to the point they were nearly indecipherable and entirely too influenced…

I really just need a moment.

But this one is no better than the others. I plop down on the new porch swing and stare holes through my trainers. Between only just realizing I must be gay and all this strange stuff with Remus and Tonks and falling for Snape and this new ground with Draco and the loss of Ron and what that might mean for me and Hermione, whether or not it means anything for us, all up in the air, all of my unanswered questions where everyone’s involved… or almost everyone…

Draco has been pretty open and honest with me, it seems, so far. It comes as a huge surprise, time will tell, and it’s still beyond odd to find myself so suddenly on his side, but no one else is making any sense either and at least Draco isn’t screaming at me or trying to get with me. I can understand Draco's motivations and learn more of who he is, but I can’t understand Remus and Tonks' situation. There has to be something he’s not telling me. And if he’s hiding something from me involving his relationship and practically encouraging whatever seems to be building between us…

But no. He can’t know that something’s there… he's just trying to help me, with this war, with my friends…

Even with Snape in spite of everything.

And why is he acting like this? I lean back heavily, head hitting the backrest hard and stare up at the rafters. If what he told me’s true, that he’s never felt this way… and I can actually _feel_ what he’s feeling. It is real and strong and deep. I feel all of it too and he _knows_ I do, because of the connection, which we might not understand or really be able to control, not that I’ve tested it much, but not understanding it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t mean _something_. It must! Whether we’re soul mates or… whatever. I shake the jumble of thoughts loose, everything’s trying to surface at once. I fold my arms across my chest to hold onto something solid. I didn’t want to think on it too much before, how he feels, how I feel, what all that might mean, everything’s so new and I was so afraid to ruin it but… doesn’t it mean anything to him? Doesn’t the connection seem like just as much of a sign to him as it does to me? I thought it all went without saying. That it means this is different, that _we’re_ different, maybe it doesn’t mean that we’re meant to be together or anything, but it still HAS to mean that this is worth it, that we’re special. That it matters, _we_ matter.

It matters to _me_. Could he truly not care? Was it a line, all the things he said, or did he change his mind?

Could _all_ of them truly _not care_? Remus not care about his wife, my friend, Tonks? Tonks not care, supposedly, about knowing Remus has feelings for me, that he’s here with me, giving me a house? Ron not care enough about our friendship to let me care for who I care for, and he could honestly not care that Draco needs our help, he’d leave him to die given the chance? Even Hermione… I understand that she’s loved Ron nearly forever, but she’s still giving him a choice and a chance, still trying to work this out in spite of him seemingly only getting worse all the while I’ve been gone. How could she ever possibly overlook all of the awful things he’s been saying about me, all the horrid things he feels toward me and people like me, her best friend, someone so prejudice and still be with him? How could she want to if she really cared?

How could I want her to choose between us? It’s just the same, isn’t it? When I left, I wanted them to stay together, to have each other. It seemed important that they have each other, that love, to get through this. It still does, maybe more so now that I have an idea of what it feels like to have it and lose it. When I think that Severus could just throw it away… that pain is incomparable to the loss of perhaps the most important friendship I have ever made, which surely also speaks volumes about whatever’s developed between Severus and myself. It serves as a reminder that I can’t, even for a second, consider allowing Hermione to trade it away no matter the personal cost. But I refuse to consider it much more closely than that as an endless pit seems to be opening in the face of that thought and I can’t afford to let it consume me just yet. There’s more to think about.

Like the fact that I’ve been outted. I barely had time to realize I was in the proverbial closet before being drug out of it unawares. At least with a war on I’ll not have to worry about what the headlines would do with it. I can’t even begin to imagine all the creative things Rita Skeeter could do with that information. Nothing to worry about but the reactions of all my closest friends and loved ones, which is more than enough in addition to said war that makes my orientation senseless drabble. Of course, she might still after…

If there is an after… for me, her…

Anybody.

This isn’t helping. My thoughts and feelings are just as much of a jumble as the last few days have been, bouncing around just as much as I have, with no order, no structure, no promise of resolution. Nothing. Sitting around thinking things through isn’t helping anything, trying to understand and reason through the actions of others does nothing to help things. Try as I might I doubt I'll ever satisfy or calm myself this way. I need answers from Snape and Remus and closure on the situation with Ron. And more importantly, I need to bring an end to this war. Whatever Draco might have meant when he said they were equally important, he’s wrong. I have to stop wasting time and energy on this. I need to move on. Snape wants to ignore me, fine. Remus can have whatever motivations he wants for keeping me around, help is help. I won’t let it cross the line. I’ll keep an eye on Draco, let Ron throw his tantrum and love Hermione no matter her choice. Love all of them, no matter what. For all their faults, no matter what happens, I’ve found reason to love all of them (except Draco) before. And that won’t ever change, our relationships might, but not me. Those things are still there, and I still love them. There really isn’t much to worry about put like that. So long as Voldemort's taken care of, there’ll be time enough to sort the rest out, so long as we all make it through to the other side. Nothing’s more important than that. I can’t waste time moping about things I can’t control, I have to take charge, frightening as that thought is. And I know where to start.

The door opens and Remus steps out, looking concerned and candid, nothing behind his expression except kindness and affection, nothing untoward, nothing to be suspicious of. He stops in front of me and gives an uncertain smile. “Everything alright?”

I smile back, more confidently than I’ve been able to in the last week. “Yeah, it is.”

He nods and shrugs. “Well… it will be, at any rate.”

I nod again, not really wanting to talk about it. I’ve made my strange peace with the state of things. It’s time to get back to what started all of this, what’s really important.

“You said there’s a wand maker nearby, didn't you?”

I’ll just have to keep in mind that this isn’t giving up though it feels suspiciously similar, it’s being reasonable. I can’t control the rest of the world and bring an end to Voldemort, I have to focus on my job right now. Neither can live while the other survives, and all that. Snape will have to show himself eventually. I can wait, we can wait. Remus kneels down and searches my face for something, his eyes hard for a brief time before they soften again and he nods, the corner of his mouth quirks upward.

“Good. Would you mind taking me soon?”

“We can go tomorrow.”

I nod. “We'll need to summon Severus with the button soon as well. We need to get back to work. Things will be different now we’ve got Draco as well. He’s volunteered his help. We’ll know what’s an obvious trap, who to avoid, between the two of them there’ll be a lot less Snatching. Severus told me You Know Who’s traveling and he’s taken a suspected Horcrux with him. He might know about the locket… I don't know if he's onto us or not but we have to find the others, fast. If they aren’t already beyond our reach.”

Remus nods again, looking at me surprised but clearly taking me seriously. “Classes have just started. It won't be safe for him to skip out for a few days.”

“Right. We haven't really got a plan anyway. No idea where he’d be hiding the others or if he’s already taken them.” I resolutely tamp down the surge of anxiety and terror that springs forth. There’s no point, none whatsoever. Worry about what’s in your power to fix. “So we’ll hold off on that, get a wand if that’s alright and then summon Snape after he’s had time to... settle in. I think we’ve all done enough moping.”

His surprise takes on a tinge of guilty abashment but he nods again. “Hermione-”

I shake my head. “I still need to do this by myself. Already, Ron's… I’m not screwing her life up anymore.”

“That isn’t your-”

My hand cuts him off even as he places one of his on my knee. I stare at it but can’t bring myself to shake it off. It's warm. “I don’t want to hear it. What do you think they’d be doing right now if it wasn’t for me?” That question could mean so many different things I’m not even sure I know how I mean it.

“This was bound to come up between them sooner or later. It’s not just about you. The problem's bigger than that.”

“Exactly. This, what’s been distracting all of us, what’s happening here, it doesn’t matter.” His face falls but his hand doesn’t move. I press on quickly. “We're sitting down to lunch talking about whether or not the Weasley’s care that I’m gay. In the middle of a war, in a hideout, with a Malfoy upstairs we’re talking about to whom it matters that I’m gay. We’re talking about the merit of the idea of persuading Ron to get past his homophobia so I can disrupt his and Hermione’s life to go and kill a Dark Lord who’s obsessed with me.” I snort, “As if it’s even their fight. Sure, it’s everyone’s problem but it isn’t everyone’s job. Not according to the prophecy that started all of this,” rage flows through me at the passing mention of that cursed moment in history, rage and something else I can’t name and it doesn’t fit but I ignore it, and then I’m on my feet pacing, “and can’t any of you see how they’d just be a distraction? How they’d just be one more thing to worry about? Especially Ron, if that’s how he feels, how could I ever-” I stop. That’s what Draco meant. I wouldn’t want to be forever worrying about Ron and whether or not he’d be a reliable friend out there. Not when it really counts, when it’s really important, if our friendship isn’t motivation enough to rely on him then what sort of motivator will Hermione be? How could I now trust him when it’s important to be by my side? Like staying here hidden, safe, counting on Remus is important. Just as it was with Snape. And what motivates them? How easily might those motives change, and what then? I turn to Remus, who's staring at me, concerned. “Tell Mrs. Weasley I’ll come back for my dinner soon.” I don’t wait for a response as I dart back up the stairs. I walk in without knocking, Draco's sprawled on his bed, legs crossed at the ankles and hands folded beneath his head on the pillow, but he doesn’t appear to have been sleeping. I step in and close the door, cautiously casting Muffliato.

“Come to your senses this quickly? It’s a record, surely.”

I feel the barb but smirk. There’s no heat in statement, still, and the tension in the air breaks completely as my gut and head come to the decision to fully let the past go. “This is all so utterly fucked.”

He nods and seems to try to hide a sigh but isn't quite able. I walk the short distance between the door and the bed and sit down beside his legs. I sense when he tenses but opt to ignore it. We need to get past all this awkwardness if were going to work together. As time’s a factor it might be best to take a more direct approach. I lean my elbows on my knees and prop my head on my hand, exhaling all of my frustration and stare at the floor unseeingly. My stomach clenches at the thought of what I've decided, but it has to be done. “Sorry about before, I-” I heave a sigh and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I worry my lip before continuing, “Snape never came back. We’d finally come to an understanding, decided this was happening, us, and then he left me with no word for three days. He never came back after he brought you here. I don’t really care to talk about it.” I emphasize the point with a hard look, he seems curious but not enough to ask. “But it doesn’t help much to have to defend him. So I got… touchy. I’m sorry.”

He scoffs lightly, “No need to apologize, Potter. I expect that was a rather stupid, insensitive way to go about asking.”

That’s the truth, and I think likely the closest I’ll ever get to an apology from him. “What did make you ask?”

I turn completely to look at him and he stiffens, looking at me with eyes I can't read before relaxing once more. He sighs. “Snape… I just don't know how you can trust a man who's so damn good at lying, playing everyone. Like a bloody violin, even Bellatrix, he knows she doesn’t trust him and he gives her just the right reasons, just this side of disrespect at any time, keeps up the bickering so everyone thinks her petty. I’ve known him practically all my life, he’s been around, talking You-Know-Who with my family and I’ve heard _stories_ about all these… things, he’s done…” for just a moment he sounds lost in his description of Snape, idolization or maybe something more there, he shudders and catches it and cuts himself off before I can properly sort it out, eyes shifting toward me before darting away once more. “Then mother told me he’s a spy… and I thought everything clicked into place. Of course he’s an utter bastard to everyone, he can’t let anyone on the Dark Lord’s side get too close, and why he’s so unfailingly polite to my mother and tries so hard with my father, staying in our good standing was his best option. For a while, anyway… now… it doesn’t matter. I thought he must be completely different with all of you, but I was wrong. He’s still a complete bastard. Makes sense with Lupin, of course,” another wink and smirk and I can’t stop myself from smiling back, albeit with a blush, “but what possible reason could he have to treat Mrs. Weasley that way? Is he really _always_ like that?” He looks at me, no hidden motives in his features, just curiosity.

But I remember how he talked about him, jealousy stirring up from somewhere deep, and even though it’s ridiculous it grabs hold, “Basically.” Not quite a lie, but definitely not the truth. My traitorous brain pulls up all of his better moments rapidly, desperately, and spurs me to dissuade Draco of any interest he may harbor. “He’s not exactly nice but… he’s not all bad. And we’d all be lost without him, so…” I shrug my thought away and he nods absently.

“So… even though you don’t like him, you trust him?”

“Well… _I_ like him.” I smile in spite of the ache in my chest and the corner of his mouth twitches. “But yeah, even though he isn’t exactly anyone’s best mate or anything he’s got The Orders trust… which, if you’re thinking about yourself there…” Draco blushes and picks at loose threads on the comforter, “you’re making leaps and bounds. It’s been three days and already you’re on a different side and in the course of an afternoon we’re on different terms. Before long you’ll have everybody’s confidence. Just give it time.”

He seems intensely uncomfortable to have been read so easily, but I hope his fears, whether really about Snape or about a future among us, have been put to rest.

“But what about Remus?” Draco’s head snaps back toward me, his eyes flick quickly between the door and mine, as if he doesn’t trust Remus to not be just there listening in spite of my spell.

“Well it’s… it’s not that I expressly know anything. It’s just different things that I’ve heard. Thought’s I’ve been putting together since I got here… understand I’m only concerned for… well, thinking of the integrity of our cause-” I snort and he stops mid-sentence, “Fine. I was only trying to be polite. I’m worried about what the bloody werewolf is up to. And I think you will be too when I tell you what I’ve heard.” I want to be angry at the catty remark but it came across more taunting than disparaging, and with the blow his ego has taken, a few snide remarks can likely take a pass. “Bits of information are really all I can offer, so… but… before I… in case you…” he chews his lip and twists his fingers before taking a deep breath and meeting my eye. “Thank you, Potter. I’d be a goner without you. I had to say it, just the once. Don’t expect to hear it again or any better than that.”

I nod and wait, he doesn’t seem inclined to keep talking. “Go on, then. What’s this life changing revelation?”

He huffs, scoots his back to the headboard and folds his legs. “Alright, so, it starts a while back. Greyback was in charge of keeping an eye on Remus, Dumbledore had him trying to make relations with the werewolves right?” Not a great stretch of knowledge, the werewolf on our side being responsible for werewolf relations, I say nothing and nod. “Well, he’d been trying to snatch up a larger pack that Greyback had been after for years. He had connections in the pack, Betas and other Omegas in the group who were Dark Lord sympathizers. People he was using to try to push the Alpha. The Alpha is primarily neutral in all this but he knew Remus somehow. According to Greyback he was prepared to come over to your- _our_ side, if Remus agreed to stay on with the pack all the time as his… Omega. Things were up in the air and then suddenly he married Tonks. But that surprised us, because he was so close to closing the deal and we’d been watching Fred Weasley for ages-”

“Wait, Fred? What?”

“I’m telling you, shut it. Tonks was at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes all the time, which, she's a family friend and it’s bad times and she’s an unusual person so it wasn’t all that strange, but she was there _all the time_. She’d be gone some of the time, for a day two doing who knows what, and then she’d come back and go straight there, overnights, instead of with the rest of you lot, instead of with her mom... the first theory was that it had become your makeshift headquarters, but we never saw anyone else, occasionally family but never Remus, never you lot, just her. And then someone got a picture of her and one of the twins kissing. We saw it more and more, they were out together, at each other's houses, in the shops, always together. Her and Fred Weasley. A few months went by and suddenly she wasn’t there anymore, and out of the clear blue Remus drops everything and marries her. And now here I am, with him, and he’s brawling for your honor. The man's bent, always has been according to those in the know, but suddenly he's settled down and married a nice witch, and has a child on the way. It doesn’t make any bloody sense.”

Everything he’s said about them, the twinkle in his eye when he said Tonks had nothing to worry about, it comes back to me. I’m numb. “You think the baby is Fred’s.”

“We all do, but there’s no way to prove it from a distance.”

“Why would they lie to us about it?”

He shrugs. “A good question. And I’ve a theory, but there's no proof about it.” I nod encouragingly and he goes on. “I don’t know enough about the situation, I can’t imagine why Weasley and Tonks would want to cover things up on their end. But it’s possible… a wild werewolf Alpha mates for life, they keep what they claim. That’s what it is, to be the Omega, the Alpha would have claimed him as his second in command, his life partner. The wild one’s, like that pack, they also all fight for dominance all the time. Any sign of weakness can have them thrown out or displaced. Usually through a fight to the death. He would have essentially been giving his life to the cause there. But, a powerful wizard, living between the two worlds, he’s a unique case, and allying himself with that particular pack, the rest of the smaller ones wouldn’t have stood a chance and the larger ones likely would have followed suit to the side of the Light as, when the smaller one’s fell in line, they would have been unstoppable. You would have had the werewolves. What could be so important that he let that chance go? Why would he be so unwilling to be permanently involved?”

My brain takes a moment to digest and catch up, but everything falls into place quite suddenly. “You’re not suggesting-?!” I jump up off the bed.

 

“It’s just one theory. If she needed help, it would have been an easy, understandable out for him, with the benefit of bachelorship, hidden or not.”

I shake my head, gaping disbelievingly but uncaring, “No! He didn’t even know I was gay. _I_ didn’t even know! He never thought there would be anything for us, there’s probably a much better reason. Like, I dunno, what you just said yourself! That they might have killed him at any time for any reason!”

“He would have to fall out of favor with the Alpha first.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, that’s _loads_ better, much safer altogether for him.”

“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter that you could have had the werewolves with minimal risk to any Order members, that it’s just fine that he made no mention of that fact and walked away with out any advisement on the matter?”

“Well… I-”

“He _knew_ everything I’m telling you when he agreed to the terms with that Alpha. He knew everything I’m telling you when he began negotiations, when he agreed to go and do it with Dumbledore, as he must have done at some point. He knew the risks and the rules all along and yet you’re saying that he didn’t want to do it and it’s to be expected. That you’re not at all suspicious or curious of the reasoning. That an obvious reason is implausible.”

“… There’s got to be another reason.”

“There may well be. But I’d hazard a guess that you’re at least a contributing factor. I’m… just… well it seems he’s quite easily manipulated by his feelings for you which isn’t in and of itself a failure or evil or anything but… it is… well, it’s something to consider.”

“He’s… had feelings for me for a long time. He never would have agreed to do it if that’s what kept him from going through with it.”

“Perhaps he thought he’d fail.”

I have to concede on that. He might have thought he’d never have a chance, after all, until cutting wood with him recently I’d always thought he seemed… not necessarily weak but certainly not extraordinarily strong. Knowing what I know now, maybe that’s something he does on purpose. A well kept secret he uses for protection. What else don’t I know? What else is he hiding?

“What if you’re right, Draco? What then?”

He’s taken aback, seems to shrink in on himself and shrugs, “I don’t know, frankly. I just… well if he’s lying to all of you and shirking his duty, that's something. But also… if you’re his motivation for sticking around… if your relationship changes dramatically, say _you_ become involved with an ages old nemesis no less, what could that mean? What might happen or what would he do? I imagine you thought you knew the answers to those questions before, how do you feel now?”

A stone plummets in my stomach, and I go cold. I don’t know. I feel set adrift. Snape seems to have abandoned me, practically immediately after pledging himself to me, I apparently don’t know Remus at all, I expect Draco’s right on at least half of it. Ron’s gone, Hermione isn’t here to help make sense of any of it.

And bloody Draco Malfoy, my apparent voice of reason and only resident mate.

“This is all so bloody fucked.” I throw up my hands in defeat and pace. What can I do about any of it? How can I ask Remus about these things without offending him? How could I possibly ask Tonks or Fred, for that matter? We all knew we were being watched but some invasions of privacy are more comfortably left in the dark.

Does any of it really matter?

I stop and look back to Draco. He’s watching me, worriedly, shoulders stiff, expression tight, his eyes glitter with apprehension. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? He’s doing what we need him to. We’ve lost the werewolves but that won’t matter if I kill the Dark Lord. He’ll keep me safe here and… and well, if it would change because of… Snape, that doesn’t seem to be a problem anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

He shifts nervously and his eyes dart between the bed and me. “What… if he decides he doesn’t want to give something for nothing? What if he decides to press advantage?”

“Bleugh- bloody hell, Draco! How very Slytherin of you!”

He smirks and chuckles before shrugging. “Point made. I suppose I could have phrased it better. What if he decides to try something?”

“He’ll respect my decision either way. We’ve already had a row about it. He threw me out and… feels an utter prat about it.”

His eyes shift again and I wait for his next incrimination but it doesn’t come. He shrugs and relaxes back a bit too casually. “Was this… a good start to our mutual agreement?”

I snort. “This isn’t an arrangement dependent upon your contribution. You’re here because you need to be and we just might possibly get occasional bonuses by way of information. But yes, this was… enlightening and I appreciate your concerns. Thank you, Draco.”

He seems genuinely surprised and I wonder what could possibly be going through his head. He turns calculating eyes on me and smiles hesitantly. I beam back at him, amused by his weird thoughts and actions, turn for the door and cancel Muffliato. “Come have dinner with me?”

I open the door and step into the hall before I hear his feet hit the floor. “Dining with Harry Potter in a werewolves cottage. I believe I’ve fallen through the looking glass.”

“You know what Alice in Wonderland is?”

“Oh yeah, Potter. A muggle was responsible for that piece of work.”

“You’d be surprised what muggles can accomplish.”

“And you’d be surprised to learn which of the more impressive accomplishments are the work of Squibs.”

“What about Magical Statutes?”

“Gah- Potter, read a book! Or have Granger do it for you, either way don’t look to me for your lecture.”

“And here I thought you’d be dying to show me how much smarter you are than me.”

“We both already know it. Not much sense in rubbing it in at this point.” He elbows me in the side as he passes at the bottom of the stairs to give Mrs. Weasley a kiss on the cheek. She blushes and bats at him while giggling like a school girl. Through the Looking Glass, indeed.

“Oh, you boys! It does a heart good to see you getting along! Quick, your soup is getting cold, go help yourselves.”

We mutter thanks on our way to the dining room. I try not to stare too much through the meal, but I can’t help the special consideration I feel New Draco is owed. Our earlier conversation sticks in my mind. Unless this is a trap, which I don’t think it is, Draco’s motives are fairly clear. Primarily, self preservation. The only future he could have is with our side. His families fall from grace with Voldemort was a death sentence for him, and any life he might have had would have been little more than a living nightmare anyway. Indentured servitude would not suit him. This was his only chance to get away from that. What I can’t understand is the change in personality. I suppose… considering his reference to Snape earlier, how he’d expected him to behave differently… was the Old Draco an act? The last seven years an act?

Or is this an act?

We do the washing afterward, our good natured teasing continues and he flushes interestingly several times, a pleased grin on his face after we’re done. Mrs. Weasley sits before the fire knitting a scarf in Slytherin colors and I flash Draco a friendly smile as we move through the sitting room. He pretends not to have noticed it, looking in the opposite direction as she scrambles to cast an illusion charm to change the colors to maroon and gold. He looks back to me, “Fancy a game of chess?”

I roll my eyes, “So long as you’re not a master as well. I think I’ve bested Ron twice and I expect he let me.” I ignore the twinge of sadness I feel at his name, and Draco seems to ignore his feelings on the subject too.

“Just as well. I’m not all that good either.” We take seats near the large, Victorian style windows I admired when I first arrived. Remus, who sits in an overstuffed armchair pulled from somewhere else (likely Grimmauld Place, my brain supplies morosely), reads intently and ignored me as I walk by. I do the same, intent not to stare and not to think. Draco pulls a chess board and pieces from storage in the low table we’re set at. It’s not Wizards Chess and it surprises me to no end that he’s unfazed by that.

Maybe it was all an act. If so, it was a bloody good one, rival to any act Severus could put on. I resolutely push thoughts of him and anything else from my mind as our game progresses. I’ve got the tentative beginnings of a plan to get back on track started, I can’t afford the distraction and I can’t afford to waste this opportunity to just be, even if it’s with Draco. That’s distraction enough. I thoroughly beat him, though he barely talks throughout and I suspect his mind was never really on the game. I’d ask but I’m not sure I want to know and I don’t volunteer a rematch. I stand and stretch and Remus clears his throat.

“You didn’t happen to bring your trunk back with you?” Remus looks up at me from over his shoulder.

“No. I was a bit worried about… shrinking it.” I might be determined to trust Draco but I still don’t much care for the idea of him knowing I haven’t got a wand. Remus nods, not going into further detail.

“We'll leave that to Severus when we see him next. You can borrow some of my things in the meantime. I’ll go and lay them out.” He sets his book down and walks upstairs.

I risk a look at Draco who smirks knowingly at me and wriggles his eyebrows. Huffing in exasperation I follow after Remus. “I’m gonna go check out the other room.”

“Right.” I hear a smug sort of doubt in his voice and choose to ignore it. This means nothing… though my stomach disagrees and roils nervously as I move up the stairs.

I pause at the top step, suddenly second guessing my decision. I really shouldn’t be alone with him anymore than necessary until I get a chance to talk to Snape... though that thought sends a surge of annoyance through me. Actions speak louder than words. He claimed to want me, he certainly felt something for me, but he wouldn’t feel guilty without cause. He left, purposefully. And I haven't the time to mope about. It hurts, but I'll live. I've certainly lived through worse. Besides, surely I can feel confident in my control of the situation. Remus won’t take advantage of me, he knows what I’m going through. He’s my friend. The door to the left of the hall is open now, I assume Remus is in that room and walk by slowly. He’s pulling clothing out of a positively ancient looking wardrobe and I exhale shakily as I pass, feeling as if even that momentary glimpse was over intimate. What’s wrong with me? Shaking my head I move quickly to the last door on the right and open it. My heart aches at the familiar scene. Books stacked tidily on one side, the side where the bed’s made and notebooks and quills are neatly organized about a small area. The other side a night and day comparison. The bed rumpled, clothes strewn everywhere as if he’d been here a week and not a day. It even smells like them.

Maybe I’ve just become entirely too sentimental.

“They’ll come around. Well, Ron will come ‘round, Hermione will just be back.”

My chest seizes and I turn to face Remus. I didn’t hear him come up on me. “I’m not entirely certain I want them to.”

He hands me two changes of clothes, obviously too large for me but small for him, as well as pajamas, socks and smalls. I blush slightly, both because they’re his and because I need them, and hesitantly raise my eyes. I needn’t have been so conscious of his scrutiny as he’s examining the room before us. “Why don’t you take my room? I’ll sleep downstairs. I would think trying to sleep surrounded by their things might be… uncomfortable. There really isn’t enough room for three I’m here, besides.”

“I couldn’t put you out like that.”

“It’s no problem, don’t worry about it.”

His words trigger the multitude of other such reassurances he’s given me, and my brain immediately reevaluates them under Draco’s revelations. What if this man before me is as uninvolved as Draco claims, no wife or child that he's betraying here? What does it tell me about why he's here? How does that effect the things I'm feeling? Something excites within me and my heart thunders. My mouth opens of it’s own accord, a slew of barely contemplated questions on my tongue, and then just as quickly my mouth snaps shut.

I’ve never considered myself a fickle person, but these last several days my interests, my heart and feelings and thoughts, have been as changing as the breeze. Why should the possibility of Remus being single suddenly excite me? I'd never been attracted to the man before, nothing and no one stirs things within me the way Severus does, and yet there’s this… interest, still there. New and as unexplored and frightening as all the territory between Severus and myself, only slightly different. While Severus and I are still getting to know each other, I know Remus. Everything about the man speaks of open invitation to me, and some part of me is curious beyond measure to know in what way might he react to my confusing new fondness.

That same part of me sings with the knowledge of his open nature, I won’t be rebuffed. It's alluring and enticing and in light of Severus' sudden and total abandonment, practically irresistible.

“Remus?” My voice is surprisingly breathless and low, and all thoughts on why fade away quickly. It seems there’s no room for logic in this, the body simply reacts. His head snaps like a shot toward me, eyes intent and surprised. Whatever of my inner turmoil shows on my face clears the surprise from his, I note the instant he registers my feelings. He turns toward me fully and suddenly seems larger, not looming in the way Severus does, but radiating power and energy and something expressly predatory that fills the space around us in equally intimidating fashion. I shiver visibly and he steps toward me, backing me against the door frame. My heart gallops, thunderously pounding, blood rushing in my ears, but I'm far from afraid. My eyes flick over his body rapidly and I’m certain he can see that I’m fairly panting, the air in this space seems to have been replaced by pure, static charged heat, but I am far removed from any rational sense of embarrassment for some reason. A noise escapes him, something between a growl and a purr and my knees go weak. “I’d been wondering…” amazed by my ability to speak I take pause, fascinated by the fact that even the whisper my voice has taken on can escape the tightness of my throat, which Remus eyes intently before focusing back on my lips; an action intimate as any kiss and enticing as his warm, welcoming presence. I hitch a tiny, gasping breath to finish my thought, “about other werewolves... in the wild.”

His amber eyes hold my own, steadily searching as he turns the statement over and over. Something sparks there, purpose and hope, and he inches closer still. I feel his breath gently against my face as he speaks, “Have you, now?” A hint of mischief joins the spark, and electricity tingles on my skin, his magic, I think. “Why is that, Harry? Simple, sudden… curiosity?” The last in that interesting, frightening, growling purr again. I shiver once more as a puff of breath hits my face. “Harry-”

“Harry? Fancy a walk?” Draco calls up the stairs.

We both break into a grin at nearly the same time. The intensity of the moment may be broken but I doubt if our interactions will ever lack the odd intimacy they’ve taken on. Even still, my skin feels flush with it. “Yeah. Be down in a bit.” I take a steadying breath and meet Remus' eye again. They're warm and intense, humor shines in them and my heart skips merrily. I grin at him sheepishly and move to step around him, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.

“What we're you about to ask?”

I blush and shake my head, amazed at the mindless courage I’d been overcome by faced, as I must have been, with his wolf. “I was just…” I meet his eyes and they plead with me. He wants me to know. All of it. He seems reluctant to let me go and my stomach clenches. I clutch his clothes to my chest desperately seeking some form of reassurance, something solid and familiar and real. His eyes glisten and his jaw flexes against something and I simply can't stand it any longer. “Does Tonks have a… particular fondness for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes? Beyond what we all do?”

His features take on a blank sort of shock before rapidly rearranging in pure hope. He smiles broadly, large, straight teeth all seeming to fight their way forward. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile quite like that. He laughs shakily. “One might say that she has… particular interests. Some more conveniently found and indulged in at that locale, interests best kept among trustworthy company. Everybody has their secrets.”

So it's true! But why? “Present company counted?”

“It really isn’t my secret to tell.”

I deflate slightly, but suddenly he grabs my other arm.

“Harry, it _really_ isn’t _my_ secret to tell. She wishes to keep things discrete and I’m of minimal involvement in _all_ of it... understand? It simply isn’t for _me_ to tell.”

I’d have to be completely thick not to understand. I smile slightly and nod, “Okay.”

He laughs again, positively glowing, “Yeah?”

I nod again, his excitement is infectious and I beam.

“Gods, what a relief!” He pulls me flush against him and buries his face against my neck, inhaling deeply. “I wanted to tell you so bloody badly. Draco?”

“Yeah.”

“I knew they were watching them. Fred and George just couldn’t seem to care.”

I chuckle, but I’m taken by the sense of warmth filling my senses at the close contact. My chest seems to consist entirely of butterflies and I experimentally tuck my head back toward his neck. His stubble scratches my cheek, I inhale a bit and receive a rush at the scent of him. So familiar and safe and wrong.

So wrong.

A wave of sadness and guilt bring me back to myself. I’m meant to be with Severus, I’d promised, I said I’d be his. It's supposed to be his arms around me, his embrace I take comfort in, we’d agreed, we'd promised. He left.

Remus runs fingers through the hair at the back of my head, holds me just a bit tighter before pulling back, something having dampened his mood. “A few days from now I’ll be visiting Tonks. I’ve asked Molly and Arthur if it might be okay for them to be here while you get your update from Snape... perhaps we can talk more. After that.”

I can’t help it, I smile again. His easy going nature, his sympathy and kind spirit, all working together in a way that I can nearly always count on. Him knowing just what I'll need, what I want, what’s going through my mind as if he could simply look in my eyes and read it there. Just what always made our friendship so easy, translating just as easily into something more. How had I been so opposed? How could I have ever been uninterested? Was I truly?

Or was I simply that enamored with Snape? Aren’t I still? … Yes. But he isn't… or doesn’t think it worth the bother. Should I, considering his recent treatment of me?

I’m unbearably grateful toward Remus that I’m not sorting this mess as he stands here. Instead I’m simply standing in a loose embrace with someone I’m most acutely aware holds deep affection toward me and seemingly endless understanding. An urge overcomes me and I give in instantly, standing on the balls of my feet and brushing my lips across his cheek, chaste but unmistakable in their intent. A wordless promise and confession. His eyes widen and his arms drop, seemingly shaken to his very core by the rather innocent action and I smile gently before walking toward his room, leaving his clothes on his bed. Draco calls after me again and I rush back out. Remus stands with his arms folded in the doorway of his guestroom still, a hard look in his eye that makes my palms sweat, a smile that promises mischief, an air of triumph about him though I'm no prize and there hasn’t been any contest, whatever might he consider won? My heart trips and my breath catches, but I don’t stop. I acknowledge him with eye contact and continue downstairs. A small voice in the back of my head informs me that perhaps there was more of a game on than I'd known of. My stomach sinks as I suppose that means I’ve just lost it for Snape. Although, maybe he’d refused to even play. After all, here I am without him. Perhaps he wised up like Ron, seeing as I do that I’m hardly worth the effort. The risks definitely outweigh the benefits of being with me.

 ****************

Three days. Three days back and forth between that cabin and Hogwarts, three days ignoring the longing call between our hearts, three days feeling his anxiety and dread build, feeling his hope slowly wain. It is almost a relief when he finally gives in. But it is short lived, the grief and confusion that washes over him when someone finally confirms that yes, I did in fact leave him in that hole without so much as a word of farewell, knocks the wind from my chest. Affections momentarily forgotten, anger and betrayal fill him. I had hoped that when the time came, when he knew what I’d done, that I would feel vindicated by his budding hatred of me, that the fickle nature of youth would lend me the strength to follow through with my decision to let him go. Rather, knowing that he could so fully accept and believe that I would betray him so soon after gaining his trust simply brings about renewed and overwhelming self loathing and guilt. I’ve not done a thing to make him think or feel otherwise.

I don’t deserve him. I could never deserve him.

Which is why it only stings more to feel him trying to reassure me across such a distance, after I abandoned and betrayed him. That he would, at such a time, concern himself with my feelings… his goodness and light could shame a saint. He takes some comfort from whomever he’s found, I don’t have to wonder long, he’s attracted to them. I imagine it must be Remus, the joy and acceptance and safety flooding him would not come from anyone else. In spite of my decision, perhaps because of it, I’m nearly murderous in my jealousy. Harry, so beautiful and bright and selfless, deserves so much better than the likes of us, a Death Eater and a dark creature. But I will force myself to let him seek happiness and comfort wherever he chooses. No one deserves it more than him, and I owe it to him to allow it. I shiver as his heartache washes over me once more. I will begin attempting to Occlude against him once more, but first, I will pay penance by acknowledging the full brunt of the pain I’ve caused. I still feel hope in him, though. I imagine he’s hoping there’s a reason, something we can get through, some way to bring me back. My heart clenches. He cares so much for me, I’ve done nothing to earn it, nothing to make him and yet he does. He would forget, given time that he likely doesn’t have, in present circumstances his attraction to Remus may dull things, perhaps he'll not be so fully broken as I’d thought. But still, there will be pain, the loss of innocence always is. This, the breaking of that all important first trust. I had hoped to make things good for him, to make him happy for a time, for him to never know the pain of the betrayal of a lover. I had hoped to never hurt him. So, of course, because he's so important to me, it's completely impossible. I should have been stronger. I knew better. I knew this would end badly. But I was taken in, drawn like a moth to a flame, logic and sense trampled over and ignored in typical Gryffindor fashion. Even in this moment, this isn’t what I want. I want nothing so badly as to go to him, beg forgiveness and drag him right back to what he’s left behind. But I won’t. I simply won’t.

I make my way through the once more bustling if heavily subdued halls of Hogwarts, heading toward a dinner I’ve no desire to eat, stomach twisting into even tighter knots as the sheer quiet of the students crawls beneath my skin. They dare not make a peep. Barely even a whisper passes between them at intervals. Their eyes trained on their feet, their steps hurried and sure. They travel always in groups now, the events of the first part of the year stamping the courage out of even the most tenacious of the student body. More specifically, the Gryffindors. I don't have to plant a sneer this evening, it comes quite naturally.

There are a few in resistance, not that it's done much good. A mishmash of the oddities the Golden Trio collected as followers in their time here. I imagine Luna will be among them, seemingly as a spy though we know better. The girls resilience had been astounding. A short time among friends and even more brief time with her father all she had needed to recover from her time in the Malfoy dungeons. Upon my return she had regarded me rather sadly and said simply, “Stop fighting it,” before continuing on as if nothing had happened. Trelawney would likely find herself floored after being told that particular tale, considering my own astonishment. But how I wish to do just that, to simply allow things to go as they will. The most irksome sense of wasted potential settles in my chest and I push away any and all thoughts of what might be as I listlessly move food from one side of my plate to the next. An intense surge of arousal makes it's way through me and my breath catches. Not for any reasons one might associate with arousal, but pain. My veins are ice, my chest fire, and an absolute, irrepressible _need_ to act consumes me. I rise and make my excuses, the students return having been uneventful, the staff has no pressing need of me. I make my way to my office fighting the opposing needs to collapse and simply curl in on myself or blast the walls to bits as jealous rage burns it's way through my being. One thought beats in time with my racing pulse, forcing all else from mind on the long walk up to my office. _Harry's mine._

****************

Draco and I pick odd rocks out of the partially frozen earth beside what is likely a small creek in the spring and send them soaring through the trees, a not entirely uncomfortable silence between us, exchanging intermittent curious glances. This is all so odd.

I haven't quite been able to bring up what just happened between Remus and me. It's a tad too personal, and new and… uncertain. So what if I’m attracted to him and he’s attracted to me, so what if we almost kissed, and he knows how I feel, and I know how he feels, and so what if I kissed him on the cheek and…

Alright so it's not all _that_ uncertain. More like still unspoken. Not settled. Not... so it's just me that's confused. Fine. I’ll talk about it when that's sorted.

Several days from now.

After I’ve talked to Snape.

Bloody hell.

I let out an aggravated sigh and Draco thwacks me in the head with a pebble. I grimace and cover my head. “What the hell?!”

“If you’re going to be poor company AND put on a performance I’ll simply have to beat the issue out of your pathetic little head so as to improve your existence.” He grins wickedly and I scrunch up my face. He rolls his eyes and bounces another rock off my chest. “Go on then. Out with it.”

I sigh again and fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”

He gapes at me, clearly offended in some way. “Honestly? You're just not going to tell me?” He pauses for an answer but I’m too confused to follow why he would expect one. “We're stuck out here, in the middle of no where, not even books to pass the time and you're going to leave me out of the loop on what might be the most fascinating love triangle to have ever existed? You great selfish git.” He tosses his rocks down and storms off in a huff. I watch him disappear around the bend in the path and roll my eyes, turning to toss another rock. To my surprise it bounces right back into me, off of a solid black, eye level chest. I look up into madly glittering, pitch black eyes. My initial fear gives way to surprise before I’m grabbed roughly by the front of my jacket and pulled into a fierce kiss. I stumble backwards at his urging and find my back pressed into a tree. He hoists me slightly by my rear, gripping me tightly and growling as his tongue deftly plunders my mouth. His left hand kneads my right cheek and my face flames though my stomach attempts to launch straight out of my chest. His right hand works up my body to my throat, he squeezes lightly and even just that pressure has me certain I’ll faint. A sudden and punishing nip to my bottom lip works to clear my head somewhat. Being pressed as I am between the tree and Severus' muscular form, and the grip on my throat, makes my sharp intake of breath, indeed breathing at all, rather difficult. My thoughts haze with lack of oxygen and the southward rush of blood. He uses his thumb to turn my head and a black velvet murmur in my ear pushes me right to the edge.

“You are _mine_.”

His. I’m his. A shiver runs through me and a quivering breath is all that escapes my useless airway. Sharp teeth scrape and nip my earlobe, my hips jerk in reflex to the impossible sensitivity and his hand works back down to join the other in its rhythmic effort. Suddenly though, they’re tugging at fabric rather than manipulating flesh and I feel my too large clothing slipping.

“I- Sev-”

His tongue passes at length over sensitive flesh, sharp teeth follow in it's wake and I’m a boneless mass of need in his hands. Vehement whispers of, “ _Mine_ ,” ghost air over the path he makes. I shiver and arch my back, craving more and closer and contact and reciprocation, but I can hardly move, can’t quite reach him, dangling as I am. Another tug sends a blast of cold air across incredibly sensitive, unaccustomed flesh. I gasp desperately, suddenly level headed.

“Ahh- Severus! I-” His hands are there, quickly as the blast of air before them and oh seven hells is it supposed to feel quite that good? But never mind because I’m pressed up against a tree, dangling with my bare arse exposed for Queen and country to see and what the hell-

A deep, resonating moan moves straight through his chest into mine, his hands grip punishingly tight on the exposed flesh. “ _Mine_ ,” again, directly in my ear and I whimper, he drops my legs unceremoniously and my knees try to buckle but strong hands grab my waist, he turns me roughly away and my face flames again, he growls appreciatively and squeezes my hips, takes a single step forward and what’s happening breaks through whatever paralysis struck me.

“Sev- Severus!” I try to move away and find a tight grip on my hair, shoving my face roughly into the bark of the tree.

“You're mine, Harry, you forgot that.”

His voice is deep, and cold. Lacking all of its usual multitudes, devoid of the anger or power I would expect, even the passion in the previous whispers of mine that he'd just trailed across my skin, pressed into my ear. “What, what are you-”

“This has gone on long enough. I'll not be letting you go this easy and I won’t risk your betrayal. I'll not be made a fool of, I’m taking what's mine.”

I shiver in fear and try to maneuver out of his grip, but he presses me more firmly into the tree, spreads my legs a bit wider and I’m panicking now. “So this is it, then? This is how you want it, how you'll prove I ought to trust you? You want to force me?”

He freezes suddenly. An instant passes that feels like eternity and I think I feel a slight tremor in the hands gripping me. “H-Ha-” he releases me so forcefully he pushes me forward and I fall before I jump and scramble to pull up my pants. I turn and find him kneeled beside the empty creek, vomiting, thin frame wracked with shudders all the while and I wait it out beside the tree. My entire body is numb, my very soul I think maybe, as I watch. Time is meaningless as it passes and at length, he stands, but bends to place his hands on his knees. More time passes and I'm afraid to move, to break the stillness of this moment would be to acknowledge the chaos that came before. He turns haunted eyes to me and meets mine for an instant before covering his. He shivers violently and sucks in a great breath.

“It-” a loud shuddering sigh escapes me, beyond my control and it stops him. He reaches out a hand and opens and closes his mouth, terror and revulsion warring in equal parts across his face. Finally a horrible sob escapes him and he finds his voice again. “It was the connection Harry! I swear it, I swear to you! I was jealous and then the next thing I knew… I-I, it was like I was possessed, I was there but I was just, I was a passenger. I didn’t mean, I didn’t know, I wasn’t, oh God, Harry!” I can’t stop shivering and I wrap my arms around myself, and the realization that he’s crying brings the flood of my own tears. He takes one hesitant step toward me and I feel nothing. He takes another and then one more and pulls me forward into his arms unresisting and I still feel nothing. He doesn’t stop crying though, and neither do I. I take several steadying breaths, listening to his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“It was the connection. I swear it, Harry, I swear. It was the connection. It made me… it filled me with, with…” he let’s out another long, shuddering breath and inhales shakily. “I _swear_ it, Harry. I could _never_ , I wouldn't-”

“I believe you.”

And I do. I’m still terrified, still numb, but I do. He holds me tightly and shakes and releases several more sobs into my hair. I am still for a moment.

“Why is this happening?” He pets my hair and breathes for a time, I don’t think that an answer is forthcoming. “You left me.”

He can’t seem to stop shaking, though my own trembling is beginning to subside. “I know.”

“Why?”

“Harry… you deserve… the stars, the moon, the sun could never be enough, you deserve-”

I shove him away roughly, “I’m not some bloody fair maiden locked away in a tower! So I don’t need some bleeding knight to come and rescue me! I need a friend! Someone who understands and cares and sees _me_ , and not some priceless goddamn artifact! I deserve to be able to make my own fucking decisions about who I get to be with, or to at least be part of the decision! Has it occurred to you that none of this would have happened if you hadn’t gone and been so… so… so bloody, damn, so- not like you! What happened to me being a tetchy little brat? Now I’m too damned precious for you?!”

I look up into his pained expression and want to hate him, desperately, achingly want to hate him. But I don’t. Not for leaving me, not for what just happened. “All this because you bragged to Remus that I wanted you to fuck me?” He gapes at me in surprise and I can’t help a small chuckle.

“I-… did not _brag_!” I snort a bit and he shakes his head wonderingly. “Harry-”

“The connection made you do this…” something creeps up in the back of my mind. I meet his eyes steadily and he looks at me earnestly. “Do you suppose… how much is the connection responsible for?”

He considers me almost shyly. “I don’t expect very much, Harry. I was… quite angry, jealous. I am… terribly possessive, I've told you. But this… it amplified everything I felt. It was… in response to your own desires. I suspect… if you were to… act on things with Remus, betray me in magical bonding terms, that it might break the bond. I am uncertain of the outcome of that, but it would seem that there are… obstacles to overcome in order for that to happen. I was… entirely overcome with the… the idea that I claim you, complete the bond…”

“Complete the bond?”

He seems surprised though I can’t imagine why. “Most magical bondings end in… intimate exchange of bodily fluid. It is an assumption I have made that this bond is no different. While I would never have hoped to have this manner of evidence I… I suppose my theory has been proven.”

I pale as I consider what that means. “Would you have, really?”

He shakes his head vehemently, grips his folded arms tightly, “It wasn’t me, I would never-!”

“I know. I know that, but… that's… that's where that was headed?”

He shudders violently, pales, covers his eyes, then his mouth and shakes his head, covers his eyes again. “Harry…” his voice is so broken and small and I fall apart at the sound of it. I rush forward and wrap my arms around him.

“You didn't! It’s alright, nothing… nothing happened, you didn't! You stopped it. You stopped yourself.”

“I should be comforting you.”

“I should like to think I would be equally disturbed if something forced me to…” I can’t say the words. He was actually going to rape me… “I would hope for understanding, want some comfort…”

“Harry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It's nothing.” I hope I sound confident. I don’t think I'm managing. “It's alright. I forgive you.”

“Are you completely mental or just a masochist?” I smirk but he turns on me, suddenly angry. “The last fucking thing that this was was okay, Harry, look at your fucking face! This is so far from fucking okay that I’m considering handing myself over to the Dark Lord, don’t you _dare_ EVER say anything like this was okay, EVER again! And don’t you ever bloody tolerate this sort of thing ever, from anyone, myself included!”

“I wouldn't!”

“You did!”

“I tried to bloody get you off!”

“At the end, what would you call the beginning?!”

“Enthusiastic snogging!”

He seems taken aback. “You… what?”

I blush. “Well. I rather liked the beginning.”

He stares at me as if I’m some new species of mold. “Harry… I left you in a hole for three days-”

“And I’m ruddy pissed about it. And I’m horribly confused and wretchedly lost and I… can’t stop thinking about you and… think I might… think I might be…” I look up at him and know it's written all over me, feel my heart trying to leap out of my throat and bleed the sentiment into his hands but I simply stand and hope he has mercy on me in this. And he does, he closes his eyes against it and shakes his head. His breath leaves him in a shuddering gust and he looks near fainting.

“Oh, Harry…”

“Harry!” Draco's voice interrupts the second emotionally fraught moment of the day and I can’t leave it at this.

“Tell me.”

His head whips back toward me from the direction of Draco's voice. “What?”

“Tell me what you feel. Tell me how you feel about me. In a few days, Remus wants to talk. I'll… I'll let you go, if it's what you want. But you have to tell me.”

His eyes and features shift through seemingly endless, indecipherable expressions before he steps forward and kisses me so tenderly I feel I might weep.

“If you were a maiden this could never work, you know. I find I am… at a loss, Harry. I… I can’t let you go. But I refuse to hold you back. Take… take time. Think on what _you_ want.” I can see the effort it takes and I kiss him again, the corner of his mouth.

“The bond-”

“It's only magic, Harry.”

I laugh at him and he smiles at me, grimacing slightly at the state of my face which I’m sure is bruised and scratched and bleeding. “It’s a good thing I trip and fall so often.” He looks as though he might be ill at the joke, “I’ve had worse.” He tilts his head skyward and heaves a sigh.

“Harry?!” Draco’s closer now and Severus physically pushes me into the path.

“Go now.” He looks unbearably sad and I step forward and squeeze his hand.

“Severus, I-”

“I know, Harry. I did this. Take your time and… if… if you come back… it will be that much… more… tell Lupin I will be bringing his Wolfsbane.” He presses his lips to mine and pushes me back again before casting Notice-me-not over himself and standing behind a tree for good measure.

Draco rounds the bend in the path and trudges toward me petulantly. “Our guardians are worried positively sick and I’ve been getting the third degree for leaving you on your own. Apparently, we're not to be on our own outside of the cabin any longer and… Merlin! What’ve you done to your face?!”

“Er- tripped.” I mutter and blush and struggle with all of my being not to look at Severus.

“You git! They'll murder me!” He grabs me by the arm and begins dragging me back down the path. “Doubt if they'll even let you use the loo on your own, now. This is all entirely your fault, you realize, we can't go for walks on our own, can't do anything because they’re afraid someone will find you, and now you’ve had to go and prove you’re a ruddy menace to yourself! And believe me, this will be _my_ fault somehow-”

I risk a glance over my shoulder, Draco's so lost in his tirade that I don’t think that he'll notice. I swear I just make out his pale, sorrowful face being enveloped by darkness before we round the corner and cross back into the wards. Exhaustion hits me and I hope desperately that Remus will simply let me beg off a story about my face and go to sleep. My brain feels full to bursting with thoughts and feelings and I can’t begin to imagine how Severus must feel…

I stop so suddenly Draco actually stumbles a bit. I can’t feel him anymore. I haven't, in fact, felt anything from him some time. Not since…

Is it already broken? Did I break the connection? But no, Severus said that’s what made him… that’s why he… he said he felt me, he wasn’t surprised about Remus…

“Potter? What are you doing?”

“… _I just don't know how you can trust a man who's so damn good at lying, playing everyone. Like a bloody violin… I’ve heard stories about all these… things, he’s done…_ ”

What if he… ? But then wouldn’t he have gone ahead and actually done it? Maybe he's just occluding against it like before… but even then I felt something and I just feel so _empty_ , and shouldn’t this be better, shouldn’t I feel normal and better, like myself again? If it weren’t for Draco looking at me like I was some sort of damaged, dangerous animal I'd run right back to him and ask. As it is, Remus steps out onto the porch and stops, eyes widening when he sees my face. He eyes Draco accusatorily.

“The bloody prat went and fell into a tree. I think he's hit his head, he's just been standing here staring like this for ages.”

Remus rushes toward me, cupping my chin and turning my head this way and that, taking in my face. “Tripped and fell?” He meets my eye and I can see that he doesn’t believe it.

“Yeah.”

He looks at me curiously and I meet his eye as steadily as I can. He sighs and brushes a thumb over my uninjured cheek. “I’ve got a salve. It'll help. Come on.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, I see him look off into the woods momentarily before I allow myself to be lead into the house. I get the feeling he knows exactly what I'm not telling him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright you guys. I am very, very, VERY sorry about the delay. Things have been terrible. But I should be okay. Prognosis is good and chances are good so far. I am being closely monitored. My life outside of cancer has been a MESS as usual but there are good days, where I write and plot like crazy and a few good friends have been going above and beyond to remind me that this really is a world worth being in. Also, I had planned to delete my update chapter but the outpouring of encouragement and support that you all gave me, which left me absolutely speechless, I just couldn't delete those. I am beyond tears every time I read through them, you're all so beautiful and I just love you so much and I'm blubbering again and oh Lord I hope you like this update. The next should come much more quickly as I find I have more good days than bad of late. So much love and blessings and happiness I wish for all of you!! Oh! We're gonna have some Draco perspectives too! Sound good?


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